


In Fairytales and Serendipitous Encounters

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Humanstuck, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serendipity: the action of finding something good completely by accident.</p><p>Dave has computer problems, and in a fortuitous move, he finds Tate's Electronics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a thing. Apologies for any weird sentence structure I might've missed - I decided halfway through that this should be in present tense, and changing 5+ pages from past to present can get kind of harrowing. You can find some idle information about the world (plus my random rants about it) at my Tumblr's tag for ["humanstuck"](http://devilishkurumi.tumblr.com/tagged/humanstuck).

            This is the third time in a row that his computer's screen has gone blue, and it's starting to really fucking grate.  Dave's never professed himself to be amazing with computers; he knows his shit, he knows  how to make it work when isn't laden with viruses and spyware, and he knows how to (sort of) fix it when it's broken.  But this is getting just plain fucking obnoxious.

            His computer's sort of the only thing he owns that's actually worth anything to him.  His business relies upon it, and so does his school work - the little bit that he has - and now it's reached the point where even restarting it does nothing.  If he were living with his brother - but no, he doesn't live with him any more, and he doesn't need his help.  He has some cash tucked away - more than enough to take the stupid thing down to the nearest cheap electronics shop that can help him out.

            It only takes fifteen minutes to load his tower into his shitty 2001 Chevy Impala and get his skinny ass down to the closest repair shop his phone could find.  It's a run-down place that fits the cheap-rent strip-mall feel, with faded red letters that light half-way up, making the sign read "TA-- --E--RONICS" instead of _Tate Electronics_.  The windows are plastered with sun-bleached flyers for _outrageous prices_ and _free IT hotlines_ , which sounds like a pretty good deal until he reads _*for all in-store purchases over $100_.  Not that any of the computers he can see through the door really pass for that kind of price.

            Still, it's air-conditioned when he walks in, and it's dimly lit in a way that makes it perfectly sketchy.  Jesus Christ, it's like a horror movie in here.  Like in _The Brave Little Toaster_ , which he'd only seen once when John has told him it was blasphemy that he'd gone his entire life without seeing it.  He expects to approach the counter, look up as he sets his load down and see a huge, hulking figure silhouetted in the...

            Oh fuck, a neon-colored bead curtain.  This genre is swinging wildly from horror movie to stoner flick.  It even gives a shot at having a design in it - a palm tree.  A multi-colored palm tree.

            "Wow," he drawls as he sets his computer tower on the countertop, talking without needing anyone around to listen.  "That really classes a joint up."

            A lisping, reedy voice speaks up from behind him, and Dave barely keeps himself from jumping.  "Don't let the artist hear you say that.  You'll hurt his feelings."

            He saves himself by using the shift in his momentum to turn around, lifting a hand to adjust his shades.  The shop's unfortunate lighting doesn't stop him from making out the figure of a tall, gangly teenager, wearing a shirt just slightly too big for him, with red and blue beaded bracelets stacked on his wrist.  His black hair is a rat's nest, and Dave doesn't keep his eyebrow from raising as he takes the other in.  "Right, because the artist is, who, you?"

            The boy snickers, wheezy and a little condescending, and he moves around Dave to step behind the counter.  "No, but he'll be around.  What's up?"

            Dave can hear the death knell of a thousand retail workers in his voice.  "I was taking my computer for a walk around the block and figured I should stop in and show him what'll happen if he keeps acting up on me," he drawls, leaning his hip against the counter.  The kid leans forward as well, putting his hands on the tower and giving it a long look, as if he can tell what's wrong from it just staring at it.

            "Yeah, I'm sure that's totally working.  What's it doing?"

            "Blue-screening.  I'm going to have to completely wipe it, I'm just hoping you guys might be able to do something about the shit I've got on there.  Don't have time to back it up myself."

            Meaning he never backed up anything, because nobody ever thinks to do that before their computers actually die.  The kid raises an eyebrow, and it's only then that Dave realizes the other is wearing glasses - dark red-tinted shades with thin wire frames.  They look prescription, as much as any glasses can - actually, they kind of fucking scream it, obvious like the way transition lenses are.

            "Yeah," the kid says, offhanded, like he isn't paying attention.  He's still staring at the tower.  "Did you build this one yourself?  It's custom."

            "Nah, stole it from my bro when I left.  Not _seriously_ stole," he adds as the boy shoots him a look.  "Bon voyage present.  Either way, if I'd built it myself, you think I'd need your help backing shit up?"

            "Yeah, about that."  He raises an eyebrow over his glasses.  "I hope you don't have any projects due, because I'm not sure you're going to get it off of here."

            Dave lets his mouth fall from a passive line into a very slight frown.  "What, you can tell without hooking it up?"

            "Usually, if it's blue screening and refusing to load anything, you're S.O.L."

            Letting out a little groan, Dave runs a hand through his hair, which he knows will fall back into place the second he leaves it alone.  The kid stares at him for a bit, blank-faced, and then shrugs.  "Well, let me try.  Give me a day."

            "Yeah, okay.  Twenty-four hours, otherwise I might as well throw that thing to the curb and get myself something basic as shit that's not going to screw me over."  He turns to bail, completely ready to just come back the next day, but then the kid reaches out and brushes his arm with his hand - like he realized touching a customer isn't exactly a good idea partway through the motion.  Dave turns his head to look at the other over his shoulder, his mouth twisting into the closest thing to a snarl he can get with his poker face.  "Don't touch the merchandise."

            "Whoa, jeeze," the kid says, lifting his hands up.  "I was just going to ask that you write down some contact information, so I can let you know what's up with your computer."

            He slides a yellow sticky pad towards Dave, who stares at it for a few seconds before writing his userhandle down on it.

            "Uh, which client is this for?"

            "All of them, take your pick."

            "All the same, you might want to give me your number so I can actually _get a hold of you_ , since your computer's _here_."

            Dave raises an eyebrow and holds up his smartphone, already blinking with a list of messages from several applications.  "Welcome to the modern age, where everything your computer can do, my phone can do better.  No it can't, yes it can, and if you want my number you've got to come up with a classier line and not use work as an excuse."

            The kid's blush is visible even in the shitty light, and Dave almost allows himself to smirk.  Not quite, though.  He settles for giving the kid a thumbs up before taking off, walking through the hand-me-down electronics and out the door.  His exit's nearly flawless - except for the part where he has to quickly side-step and limbo under the arm of an obscenely tall, awkwardly-long-limbed man in full Juggalo makeup.  He doesn't look back, though, not even as the man drawls out a lazy, "Sorry, bro."

            Actually, that had gone pretty fucking smoothly too.  He's pretty sure the whole thing had been flawless, a perfect ten, and he doesn't need to look to see if the kid is impressed.  He totally, obviously is.

***

            Sollux isn't impressed.

            The scrawny kid who had nearly gotten clothes-lined by Gamzee’s mere existence played a hard game, but he's pretty much a complete loser.  Sollux doesn't need that in his life – but he _does_ need the commission, and so, with Gamzee picking up the tower for him, Sollux absconds into the back room.  The chances that he’d be able to retrieve files from the computer is pretty much nil, but at the very least he’ll get sixty bucks simply for trying, so it's a win-win.

            Gamzee doesn't ask whether or not he can take Sollux’s beanbag for himself; he simply flops down in it, and Sollux has to let him.  The guy is too _nice_ to yell at; he’d tried plenty of times and all it did was make him feel fucking guilty about it.  Besides, if he did manage to somehow upset his face-painted friend, he knows Karkat would literally flip his shit so hard that the Earth would rotate backwards.

            “What are we motherfuckin’ playing, bro?” Gamzee asks, picking up the Playstation controller and tapping at the directional buttons aimlessly.

            Sollux takes a deep breath in through his nose, reminds himself that he’s beaten the game three times already, and forces himself to respond.  “Blood Omen.  Don’t-”

            How Gamzee manages to die within a minute is a fucking mystery.  Sollux tries not to think about it, opting instead to hook the tower up to one of the many monitors littering the workbench.  There's no real reason for Gamzee to even be here, except for the fact that Karkat usually picks him up from Tate’s on his way home from work; since he generally has run of the place from open til close all week, Sollux apparently makes the best half-way point for the two of them.

            The owner of the shop has tried to hire on a few other workers over the course of Sollux’s time, but for one reason or another they always end up dropping out after a few months.  Even if Sollux _wanted_ help (which he doesn't, most of the time), there's rarely a steady hand to offer it.

            It's okay, though.  His classes are all online, he's making good money, and he's just barely scraping under the legal work-hour limit.  It's pretty solid, all in all.

            The computer doesn't start up past the blue screen, which is expected, but the irritation of all the work he's going to do is only amplified by the sound of Kain repeatedly dying in the background.

            “Look, do you want me to dig Crash Bandicoot out of the game box for you or something?”

            Gamzee swivels his head on his long, gangly neck and stares absently at Sollux with a lazy smile.  “If you don’t mind.  I’m not gettin’ any good at these role playing games, you know?  A brother can’t be pretendin’ to be somebody else when he’s all up and too busy bein’ himself.”

            Sollux knows exactly where the game is, and so he easily pulls it out and tosses it to Gamzee, deciding that it's probably safe to ignore the man until Karkat shows up to get him.  Besides, it's always kind of amazing to just watch Gamzee go - his inability to play video games goes right out the damned window when he gets a hold of some racing game or another.  Especially Crash Team Racing.  The guy's like a fucking beast when it comes to that shit.

            He abandons any real attempt at saving the computer after another twenty minutes of trying whatever tricks he can, and instead he settles next to Gamzee's gangly form, doing his best to beat the other while knowing it's pretty much futile.  He groans when he hears the jingle of the front door's bell, making a move to stand up only to hear someone shouting.

            "Don't bother getting up," Karkat's voice calls, grumpy as normal, "I can make my own way through this monstrous pile of discarded technological waste, I don't need you to come hold my hand!"

            Gamzee wins the race well before Karkat actually makes it to the front, and then Karkat is shoving his head through the beaded curtain and glaring at them.  "Wow, what the fuck, are you just playing video games instead of coming out front?"

            "You said you didn't need my help," Sollux drawls, craning his neck to see the other from around Gamzee's frame.

            "Yeah, I was being fucking sarcastic.  There's some guy mouthbreathing over that box of five dollar keyboards out here.  Might wanna deal with that, instead of just letting him get his gross diseases all over."

            Sollux knows immediately who Karkat is talking about, and so he gets up with only some reluctance and makes his way back to the main area of the shop.  He reminds himself for a sixth time to go scrounge up some new light-bulbs as he makes his way over to the tall, strongly muscled man pushing through the box of used keyboards.  His hair is tied back in a tight ponytail, his sunglasses settled on top of his hair as he blinks through the hazy light to find a keyboard that still has all of its keys.  It's kind of hopeless, but Sollux has never gotten him to buy any decent keyboard.  Not that he'd want to - he's seen what the guy does to his shit, and he really doesn't know if his heart could handle seeing a good keyboard crumpled up and broken to bits.

            "I can pop some of the keys off and put them on one, if you want," Sollux says, and the man jerks back as though he's been shot.  Sollux kind of likes freaking the man out like that, if only because he knows any more serious douchebaggery would likely land him with a black-eye or something.  That's what he figures at least, because the way his nose is bent, it looks like the guy gets into enough fights to know how to throw at least one good punch.

            "That would be foolish," the man says.

            "Yeah, but since you're literally the only one who buys out of this box, I don't think it's going to matter.  Here."  He digs a keyboard out, missing three or four keys, then jerks his head towards the register.  "Unless you need another mouse, let's get this show on the road."

            The man starts forward, then hesitates and grabs a mouse from the bargain bin as well.  Sollux makes a face, eyeing the ugly little rubber ball inside the thing and lamenting the fact that such a thing still exists.  But he follows the man up to the register, just in time for one of the lights near the door to flicker and go out.

            "Here, one second," he says, sighing and ignoring the way the man's muscles all tense; he obviously doesn't like to wait, but Sollux pauses only long enough to lean into the back and ask Gamzee to grab some light-bulbs and a ladder for him.  Then, he's back to popping off keys from the skeleton of a keyboard from 1998; they pry off without too much effort, and pop on with even less, leaving his customer with a fully functional keyboard that he'll break inside of a month.

            The man pulls his wallet from his pocket, but hesitates when thumbing out the bills; Sollux glances over his shoulder to see Gamzee hauling out the ladder, a box of light-bulbs under his arm and a lazy smile on his face.

            "Hey, brother," he says, "Which lights are all dyin' on you?"  He asks more as a courtesy than anything, because he's already moving the ladder over towards one of the dim, flickering lights.  The man is still staring at him, even as his back is turned.  He looks kind of disconcerted, maybe even a little grossed out, and Sollux immediately feels his metaphorical hackles raise.

            "What, haven't you seen a clown before?" he snaps, drawing the man's attention back to him.  "Twelve-sixty."

            The man's muscles are still tense and his brows are furrowed into a deep v that mimics his widow's peak, but he pays the money and doesn't say anything about it, not even when Gamzee swears a little as he nearly drops a lightbulb.  Sollux can see he's about to have a conniption over it, though, and it makes him grin a little.

            "Thank you," the man mumbles, and he's almost to the door before Gamzee opens his big mouth.

            "Good motherfuckin' luck, with all that computer shit, brother."

            There's a full-bodied twitch before the man manages to nod, leaving quickly and rattling the door as he slams it behind himself.

            "That motherfucker's got some major issues," Gamzee says, sounding sorrowful as the light-bulb suddenly flares up as it's screwed in.  "Heh, let there be some motherfuckin' illumination up in here."

            Gamzee's the kind of guy who can quote clichés, fuck them up, and still not look like a douchebag when he does it.

            "Yeah, tell me about it.  He's come in here like, once a month for the last three months.  He breaks the shit out of his keyboards, it's terrifying."

            Gamzee looks thoughtful as he climbs off the ladder.  "Yeah, might be more than a little messed up.  He's got all these powerful angry vibes comin' off him."

            "He's a regular fucking Hulk," Sollux says, with a tone meant to end the conversation.  "If you get the rest of the lights, I can get us set up to close and we can go get some Chinese or something."  That's all he really has to say to get Gamzee to drop the subject of the occasional body-building weirdo, and for that Sollux is eternally grateful.

           Karkat must've heard him, because before too long, his short, stocky friend wanders out of the back, lips pursed and eyes squinting at the bright lights interspersed between still-dim bulbs. The dark bags under his eyes only look darker under the harsh fluorescents, and Sollux has told him a few times about how his shitty posture just makes him look like a short, pudgy Pilsbury doughboy. He'd only ever brought it up in his vindictive, manic moments, and Karkat has thankfully not dropped him as a friend because of it. He still feels kind of bad when he thinks about it, which isn't often, because he thinks Karkat's actually really cute. Well, when he's not being a huge, gregarious asshole about everything.

            "Who the fuck said I wanted Chinese?" Karkat snaps, reminding Sollux that he's never _not_ an asshole.  "Maybe I want pizza or something."

            "You hate pizza."

            "Maybe I'll fucking spite both of you and want it out of sheer contempt for you making decisions for me, how's that?  Pizza sounds awesome, let's get some greasy, cheesy monstrosity so we can shove it down our gullets and relish in the feeling of our arteries slowly succumbing to the sheer amount of lard!"

            "Yo, pizza sounds good too," Gamzee says as he takes the ladder down, hoisting it over his shoulder.  "I'm all ready for some pepperoni and mushroom."

            "No, fuck pizza, I hate pizza."

            Sollux gives a long-suffering sigh for show and pinches the bridge of his nose.  As he looks down at the counter, he notices the sticky note with that kid's username on it; he should probably tell him that his computer's a no-go.

            Karkat argues the whole way out the door, not ceasing to espouse at length about how ill the Chinese place up the block makes him, and about how MSG is going to murder him before he can graduate.  Sollux locks up and suffers it all the way until they get into Karkat's car and he drives them up the block to the Chinese place.  Neither he nor Gamzee say a word.

***

            Dave realizes that he has no idea what to do with himself without his computer around about five minutes after he gets back to his apartment.  He hadn't forked over money for cable, and his recording shit is useless without something to, you know, _record_ on, so he's regulated to hooking up his PS3 and watching Netflix until his eyeballs give out.  He uses it mostly for background noise as he chats with some of his friends about how shitty his life is without his computer.

            _Finally_ , Harley seems to get the hint - it's his fault for having flighty friends like her and Egbert - and she invites him to come get her and go out for dinner.  He puts in the appropriate amount of waffling - two lines worth - and then he's out the door.  She tells him that if he's extra nice, she'll bring John along, and he scoffs at her.  As if he isn't the perfect fucking gentleman, jeeze.

            Egbert and Harley live in the dorms of the local community college, and when he honks obnoxiously outside, he can see them peeking out of their windows at the exact same time.  It's kind of cute and really creepy, and so he honks his horn one more time to get their asses in gear.  His sister texts him about her psychology professor, and he staunchly ignores it.  Fuck her and her professors, she rants about him a lot and if she were _really_ smart, she would've done like him and gotten online classes.

            John is the first one out the door, living on the first floor, and his gangly, almost-but-not-quite linebacker build blocks the doorway.  He stands there until Jade shows up, and Dave pushes his sunglasses down to stare as they approach.

            "What the fuck happened to your hair?" he asks her when she gets in the front seat, John piling into the back in as ungainly a way as possible.

            Jade giggles and runs her hands through her short - _way_ short - hair.  "I felt like a change, I guess!  Besides, Kanaya convinced me."  She scowls at him so suddenly that he feels momentarily surprised, but thankfully his glasses are back up so it's not really a problem.  "You like it, don't you?"

            "Yeah," Dave drawls as they pull away from the curb, "It's just that your hair was like, six feet long."

            "Fuck off," she responds cheerily.  John laughs from the backseat.  "It wasn't nearly that long, and this is way easier for me to manage!  I'm sorry about your computer, by the way."

            "Yeah, it sucks, but whatever."

            They drive across town to the only Chinese place in a thirty mile radius that won't give any of them food poisoning, and in that drive Dave gets three more texts from his sister.  Each one is a little less coherent, and he knows she's getting sloshed - probably with Roxy, which isn't even close to a surprise.  He doesn't read much of the content, other than her talking about some guy and how he's got adroit hands and an argent smile and other words he knows are just five dollar synonyms for much more common ones.  He ignores it when he has a chance to read them, and just clears them from his new message box.

            He gets an instant message as they climb out of the car from someone called twinArmageddons, saying his computer is a lost cause.  It must be that asshole from the shop.

            He's sour up until they find a booth and he finally takes a moment to glance around - and there's that obnoxious little Indian kid who's always on time with his Lit homework.  He recognizes him from the student profile picture he has.  He's ranting about something, and Dave can hear him from their seat across the restaurant; his arms are waving, and he almost knocks the guy next to him upside the head.  Shit, he's loud.  He'd never really expected that, not from the detailed essay responses on the message board; he'd imagined some kind of nerdy, soft-spoken guy who didn't know how to exist in social environments.

            Well, apparently he got one thing right.  That's better than none.

            It's weird to think that he hasn't seen the guy here _before_ now.  He must come at a different time - then again, Dave doesn't usually show up here until late, well past little cherubic kids' bedtimes.  He considers it for a moment and then gives up caring, looking back to his menu with the posture of a man who knows exactly what he wants.

            John hears the ranting from behind him and turns his head, throwing an arm over the back of the booth to get a better look.  "Oh, hey, that's Karkat," he says, sounding pleased.  "You know, he's like one of the three kids who comes to Lit class in person, instead of just doing everything online."

            "Good for him."

            He gets another message from tA, asking if he wants to come by tomorrow to pick up his computer, or if Dave wants to get it professionally wiped and restored first.  Dave looks up to see Karkat ordering, and from between the shoulders of him and the guy sitting next to him, Dave sees the kid messaging him, sitting in one of the uncomfortably rickety chairs across from the tiny ranting terror.  If he has to guess, he's got to say the guy sitting next to Karkat must be that obscenely tall Juggalo, if only by going from height and hair.

            He texts back and warns the techie against getting the peking duck, because that shit is always more fat than meat here, no matter how good it smells.

            "Rose is texting me," Jade says, and Dave shrugs, tucking his phone away as he sees the kid reaching to check his.  "Is she with Roxy?"

            "Probably, she's getting drunk, so I would put my money on it.  She's always doing dumb shit with that flighty broad."

            He gets a text - _ii2 that you siitiing over there?_ \- and Dave purposefully raises his voice when he says, "At least Rose doesn't text me stupid fucking questions like this asshole."

            Karkat turns his head and glares, shouting, "Some of us are trying to have a nice dinner, you gigantic dick, keep your voice down!"

            Which is ironic as hell, and that must be what the Juggalo guy says because Karkat turns practically red as he turns back around.  Unfortunately, drawing his attention has only drawn the other kid's.  He can tell he's staring from here.

            "Oh god, I've engaged with the locals.  We're about to be fucking boiled in their giant pot of douchebaggery."

            John laughs and turns his head, calling out Karkat's name.  "Karkat, c'mon over, man!"

            Karkat's shoulders hunch and the tall guy on his side pats his shoulder.  The other kid says something, and then Karkat is being forcibly pushed out of the booth, yowling quietly like a cat being approached by a sentient bathtub.  The gangly kid follows, and pushes him gently towards them, up until Karkat is practically shoved right into their table.  Dave raises an eyebrow.

            "You and your pet clown taking a walk around the dining hall, Pippi Ragestocking?"

            "Shut the fuck up, whoever you are," Karkat growls, before giving John a death glare and mumbling, "Hey."

            "What's up, brothers?  And sister."

            Jade giggles and looks over to the kid now sitting by himself.  "Your friend didn't want to come say hi?"

            "He's got all this business to be taking care of right now, what with his busy money makin' an' all.  Karbro and I wanted to say hi, though, since I don't get to see many motherfuckers makin' his acquaintance.  I figured it would be a little spot of sunshine in his evening to see a friend from school."

            This guy can't be serious.  Dave doesn't see anything but sincerity in his expression, though, and that makes it almost fucking unbearable.  He's saved by a text from his unknown computer savior.

            _Piippii rage2tockiing? 2eriiou2ly?_

            The fact that the guy must have ears like a fucking hawk is only outshone by the fact that he types like a retard.  Dave flash-texts back, barely looking at the, _its perfect fuck you_ , that he sends the other's way.

            He glances up at, _Look, be niice kk doe2n't get much 2ociialiizatiion, he need2 gentle care or el2e he'll develop 2ome kiind of ulcer._   The kid is smiling - well, it's more like a smirk, his smile barely curved up at the corner, and Dave thinks oh, no.

            _what do i get out of it_

            _Maybe ii can fiix your computer after all. IIF you're good two kk there. He'2 got the cute2t brocru2h on biig, gangly and manly over there and he need2 two 2pread hii2 homoerotic wiing2._

            Oh, _no_.

            That is an adorable smile and Dave Strider is not sure how to handle that.  So, he does what he does best.

            _johns got too much love for the ladies to let a sassy little spitfuck like karkles here get into his batman underoos so you should probably warn him off now_

tA lifts a hand to his mouth and oh, yeah, definitely a lot of problems arising, because now Dave is completely regretting not letting the kid have his number.  That would've been tossing a huge fucking bone, but sometimes, that's worth it.

            _by the way youre already getting paid to try fixing my computer so come up with a better reward_

            "Dave?" John asks, and Dave jerks his head up, looking momentarily confused.  Karkat is staring at him like he's breaking the binding on his prized copy of _Wuthering_ _Heights_.  "Dude, are you okay?  You're not paying any attention at all."

            "What am I supposed to be paying attention to?  I've got a business to run, you know.  The Strider lifestyle isn't put on hold just because of some computer troubles."

            "Oh, right!"  John laughs and tells Karkat and the clown, "Dave runs one of those indie band websites in his spare time!  It's really exclusive, like even hipsters don't know about it."

            "That's probably because it's got shitty music and nobody actually listens to any of the bands on it," Karkat snaps.

            "Wow, you're a marketing genius, Karkles.  I never would have guessed you'd know how to run a business."

            The deadpan makes Karkat tremble in rage, and Dave can hear the echoes of low chuckling coming from the other table.  He's got a message, but he can't look until he's cleared himself out of the conversation completely.

            "I was just all up and saying, if you guys wanted to come with us for a post-party party back at our place," the clown's saying, and it reminds Dave of those terrible 50's PSAs about not talking to strange men because they can turn you gay.  "We can all chill out together."  He purses his lips to hide his smirk and nods towards his secret text buddy.

            "Is he coming?"

            "Who, Solbro?"  The clown shrugs.  "Dunno, I haven't gotten around to askin' him, given that we're only just now coming up with this bitchtits plan and all sortin' it out."

            "I'll ask," Dave says, earning a witheringly surprised glare from Karkat.  He takes note of the question posed to him ( _2o what would get you two be niice two kk?_ ) and flings back a response like an arrow of suggestive promises.  He's Hawkeye, and Solbro or whatever is his alien racer-pod.  He's Katniss, and Solbro is his food (he's never seen _The Hunger Games_ , but he assumes food is an important plot point).  Hell, he's that redheaded Irish chick and Solbro is his chance at changing his fate.

            _come to this bitchtits party john wayne gacy jr here is suddenly throwing and maybe ill be nice to karkles long enough to let him plant his lips all over my bros ass_

            A pause, then for effect, _no homo_

            Solbro (really, he knows it's something else, but he's sick of thinking of him as tA or "the kid") smirks just a little bit wider and then tilts his head to look at them, shooting the group a thumbs up before leaning back as their food is delivered.

            "All right, we got ourselves a get together," the clown says, giving them all a thumbs up as if passing on the message.  "Karbro, we gotta stop at Valero, I gotta hook us up with some elixir and snacks."

            "Mad snackies?" Dave inquires, just to see what the guy says.

            "Hell yeah, bro, you got it!"  His grin is so innocent, Dave almost feels bad for teasing him.  Almost.  "You and me are gonna be rockin' the mad after-dinner snacktime, I can tell.  Oh, and we gotta get some shisha tobacco, too, 'cos we're mad low on that fruity shit."  He grins at Jade and points at her.  "You're totally a mango madness girl, I got you already figured out."

            She laughs and Dave thinks _oh, no_ for all new reasons.  "Wow, you've got me!  Every time I've ever had hookah, it's always mango or strawberry..."

            "Holy shit, well.  We gotta get in your head and change your views on these fruity flavors everyone's toting around.  Lemme get back to you on what we're gonna serve up, but I'll make sure it's somethin' that'll get you to see all the miracles in this world."

            Dave knows Jade has no idea what the clown is talking about, and honestly, Dave's not sure _he_ knows, either, and there's no time to ask because Karkat's already explaining in small words about how they have to go eat now, and look at Sollux - _Sollux_ \- being on his own.

            "We'll see you after we finish eating!" Jade calls as Karkat pulls the other back to their table.  She turns to face Dave and John, grinning ear to ear.  "They seem nice!"

            "For a potentially psychopathic Juggalo and a kid with serious anger management issues, sure."

            John laughs and reaches over to sock Dave on the shoulder.  "Be nice, Karkat's a cool guy!"

            "Just how cool, Ebert?"  Dave raises an eyebrow and folds his hands under his chin.  "Tell me - can bromance bloom on the battlefield?"

            John just laughs and shrugs, and when their food comes, Dave finds himself maybe a little eager to see how this whole thing unfolds.  It's not like it'll end well, but at least it'll keep him distracted from the fact that all his hard work has been wiped out forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius thinks about Mother's Day, while the Scooby Gang party it up at Gamzee's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this time my editing didn't miss something stupid.... and HOPEFULLY Word didn't screw me over by accidentally deleting a paragraph when I copied it over!!! ugh technology why do you hurt me so

            Equius hates Mother’s Day.  It’s been long enough that he doesn’t notice things like nuclear families or loving couples in ads and shows, but this day of all days is one he can do without.  The third time he hears the commercial for ProFlowers (“Get her something to show you care for Mother’s Day”), he cracks the plastic case of his computer mouse like a poorly made stress ball.  Thankfully, he’d purchased another already.

            Nepeta is out.  Her freshman year of college is nearing its end and for that, Equius couldn’t be prouder - he wishes she would find a major more suitable to her livelihood, but he knows better than to try and stop her from achieving her own goals.  He’ll complain, but he’ll let her do it anyway.

            He’s given her freedom to come and go as she pleases; as long as the car is in the driveway when he needs it for work in the morning, it’s hardly a problem.  She’s old enough to make her own choices.  He’d been her age when he’d had to grow up, and though he will crack the skull of any boy foolish enough to try anything adult with his daughter, he’s still obligated to give her a chance to fly.

            It's probably for the best that she's out with friends; he's rarely in a good enough place on days like this, and her being out of the house is the safest bet for both of them.  Not that he would ever lay a hand on her - never once has he taken out his anger on her directly, though he has yelled at her.  He feels miserable for it every time, and more miserable when he thinks back on them - the times when he'd told her how worthless her desired profession will be, the times he'd told her she wasn't allowed to go out (because it meant he'd have to be alone), the times he'd put his own emotional state over hers.  They ring in his head almost constantly, and he finds himself stepping away from everything more times a day than he'd care to count.

            The A-key keeps sticking on the keyboard he'd purchased that afternoon, the key too big for the spot by less than a millimeter.  Just enough to click obnoxiously loud, to stay down too long, and though the work he has to do is more numbers-based than letters, it still grates every time he has to do functions.

            "Show the mother in your life you care by-"

            Equius hurls the cracked mouse at the television screen, realizing only a few seconds too late that the satisfying crunch means that he now has to purchase a new television; a long crack runs down the side of the screen, tiny spiderwebs crawling out from the obvious contact point.

            He stares at it for a long while as he counts down from fifty, considering the monetary value of the screen and how much he can afford to spend on a new one, and then he stands and walks to the television, unplugging it and staring at the screen again.  The mouse crunches underfoot, but he doesn't look down.

            He goes to bed early.

***

            It turns out that Karkat and Gamzee's place isn't some kind of creepy trailer sitting just inside city limits, like Dave had half-heartedly expected.  It's a two-bedroom apartment in an okay part of town.  It's maybe a little far from the college, but other than that, it's a pretty good location.

            The interior isn't even completely filthy, which comes as a surprise, but it's clear from the way things are strewn all over the place that neither of them have any sense of "my stuff, your stuff."  Gamzee - he learns the name from Jade as they follow Karkat to the apartment - is way more hospitable than Karkat, who immediately absconds into his room and slams the door.  Nobody calls him out on it.

            The living room has a threadbare sofa and a fuckton of cushions lying around the floor, with a large hookah set up on the coffee table pushed into the corner.  As Gamzee goes to pull it into a more accessible position, Dave finds himself following Sollux, who's hauling a few bags from the Valero down the street into the kitchenette.  Lots of Faygo (gross), some RC Cola (eh), six Four-Lokos (fuck no) and a dozen bags of various chips (cool) go into their spots in the kitchen, and Dave finds himself asking, "Do you live here, or something?"

            "I just come over a lot," Sollux drawls, pulling off his sunglasses.  Dave's surprised to see splotches of brown in his left eye; it looks weird and unique and he doesn't realize he's staring until Sollux's eyes lock with his.  Of course, he's still wearing his sunglasses, so as far as the other guy knows, he's looking at the sink full of dishes.  Sollux slides on a pair of thin wire-frame glasses, a lot like his shades but without the tint.  "What are you staring at?"

            "The biology project going on in the sink," Dave replies, easily ignoring the somewhat hostile tone in the other's voice.  He can hear Gamzee chattering to Jade and John, and he wonders if he should rescue them before they get caught up in the lifestyle and start painting their faces like Pennywise.

            "Yeah - Gamzee does a lot of cleaning, but dishes aren't his thing.  Karkat will probably flip his shit when he realizes they're there and try to clean them before his boycrush sees."

            Dave lets loose the lightest little hint of a smirk, and is surprised to see that Sollux doesn't look phased.  That small crack in his pokerface usually does it for guys.  "Yeah, well, Egbert doesn't really do dishes either.  They can bond over it."

            "What are you two assholes talking about?"

            Speak of the fucking devil; Dave turns to face Karkat, who's now dressed down in an oversized purple hoodie and sweatpants.  Man, he looks like he's floating in that shit.

            "You obviously, sweetcheeks," Dave says, his face completely deadpan and his voice matching close enough to make Karkat snarl at him.

            "Not fucking interested, still-don't-know-your-name, so back off."

            "Easy, KK, he's just trying to fuck with you."  Sollux moves to smooth the situation over before it can blow up, stepping next to Dave and going so far as to throw an arm over his shoulder.  Dave immediately tenses, bristling, and even his shades can't hide the scowl on his own lip.  "Go make sure Gamzee's not putting anything in the hookah you don't want."

            Karkat shuffles off with a few more harsh words spoken under his breath, and Dave immediately disengages.  Cute smile or not, he doesn't want just anybody touching him.  "I thought I told you to keep your hands off the merchandise?"

            "I thought you said you'd be nice to KK," Sollux counters, "Quit being so fucking uptight, it's a party."  And there's that smirk again, just a little too wide to be coolkid cool, but a Strider can't judge others by his own standard.  At least, that's what his bro used to say.  Either way, it's cute.  He is all over it - especially the way his incisor kind of sticks to his lower lip after he talks, just a little.

            Oh, no, it's definitely better if he doesn't think that to himself.

            "It's not uptight.  It's called having boundaries when it comes to dudes who aren't bad enough to save the president or fix my computer."

            Sollux rolls his eyes mildly - those brown splotches are so bizarre - and pulls out one of those hideous Four-Loko cans.  The stuff tastes like Jolly Ranchers dissolved into the cheapest malt liquor money can buy, and now he's being offered a can.  "Watermelon," he says, and instead of being informative, it sounds like a challenge.

            Fuck.

            Dave takes the can - it's not that it'll trash him, it's just that it tastes so fucking nasty - and briefly runs his lower lip between his teeth.  "Ugh.  You know this shit is nasty, right?"

            "It's one of the few things Gamzee will drink that has any alcohol in it."  He pulls out one for himself, not even flinching as he cracks it open and takes a swig.  It looks like he drinks this swill often enough to not be discouraged by the gross, malt-Jolly smell.  "It's better than when he tries to mix drinks, at least, so count your blessings."

            The two of them move back to the living area, where Jade and John are sitting side-by-side on the couch as Gamzee sets up the hookah, lighting little coals with a fireplace lighter.  John looks nervous, and Dave isn't surprised - he's not a big smoker in general, and he has weird hang ups about the idea of other people doing it.  That's one of the reasons Dave doesn't bring out his pack of cigarettes around him.  That, and Jade sometimes gets on his case too.

            "We're not, uh, doing anything illegal, are we?" John asks, and Dave has to use every last bit of self restraint to not smack himself upside the head.  Any vague hint at possible coolness within John Egbert has plummeted, and with it goes Dave's own stock.

            Gamzee, however, doesn't looked phased.  He just chuckles and side-eyes the two sitting on the couch.  "Nah, brother, we don't do none of that with guests we aren't knowin' much about.  That'd be downright rude."

            "Not that I," Karkat blurts before falling sharply silent.  Dave cannot, _can fucking not_ handle how fucking stupid this is getting.

            John looks at Karkat and grins, scratching the back of his head.  "No, it's cool, I just.  You know, have classes and stuff that I have to study for tomorrow, and even drinking can make me kind of loopy the next day, so..."

            "Oh my god," Sollux mumbles to Dave, "This is horrible."

            "In that case, I guess I shouldn't offer you-"

            "Gamzee, that smells pretty good," Jade says suddenly, loudly cutting off Karkat's statement before grinning at Karkat, "And if you want, you can get me a drink, and John will have one too because this is a party!"

            Karkat blushes from his ears to his nose, mumbles something incoherent and then passes by Dave and Sollux to get to the kitchen.

            Dave doesn't make a face when he takes a swig of his drink, but he does say, "This is awful."

            John shoots him a look and Dave shrugs his shoulders.  Gamzee puts the coal over the tinfoil covering the bowl, humming to himself as he works.  It's almost like he's trying to create some kind of art with the coal, laying it out and adjusting it so much that Dave's pretty sure they're never going to get to the actual smoking part.  He takes another swig.

            Karkat comes back with four cans of Four-Loko, each a different flavor, and John stands up to help him by grabbing two of them off of him, handing one to Jade as he sits back down.  Karkat's still red in the face, and Dave really has to wonder how bad the kid wants John's dick.  Sure, apparently it was all platonic, but _come on_.

            Sollux is snickering next to him and he has a feeling they're on the same page.

            "Thanks, brother," Gamzee says as he's handed a can, Karkat and him settling on cushions on either side of the hookah.  He sends an expectant look towards the rest of them.  "Come on down and join the circle, brothers and sister."

            John hesitantly scoots from the couch to sit on a pillow next to Karkat, while Jade leaps at the chance to settle down next to Gamzee.  She even immediately holds out her hand for the hose.  Gamzee chuckles as he hands it over, and Dave doesn't move until Sollux grabs him by the elbow and tugs him over towards the free space between Gamzee and Karkat.  Thankfully, Dave doesn't stumble, though he does frown at the other to emphasize how uncool it is to touch him.  Sollux either doesn't notice or doesn't give a shit.

            Jade takes the first inhalation of the night like a fucking champ, breathing in deep and not exhaling as she hands the hose back to Gamzee.  Karkat has the other hose in hand, but he's staring at Jade like she's fucking nuts up until the moment when she exhales, giggling.

            "That's really nice!  What is that, blueberry?"

            "Blueberry mint," Gamzee drawls, and he nods to Karkat, letting him know he can go.

            "Jeeze, Jade, that was pretty hardcore," John says, sounding a little awestruck.  Dave keeps drinking, shaking his head when Gamzee offers him the hose.

            "I like hookah," she says, running her hands through her short hair, "It's like... exotic.  Like you're on an adventure or something."

            Karkat groans as he releases the smoke in his mouth, "Yeah, real fucking adventurous, ruining our lungs with a glorified bong."

            "Shut up," Jade replies cheerfully, leaning back on her hands and ignoring Karkat's flustered look.  John laughs awkwardly and Dave glances to his side to see if Sollux is doing that smirking thing again.  He's too busy inhaling, though, and Dave doesn't look away until he sees Sollux tip his head back and let the smoke drip from his mouth a little before exhaling.

            Jesus fuck.

            Jade is giggling again, and Dave looks to see John concentrating very hard on inhaling from the other hose, nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed, and when he exhales it's definitely not smooth at all.  He's a coughing wreck, and Karkat looks like he's going to probably die of mortification.  Something jabs him lightly on the shoulder and he looks to see Sollux holding out the hose.

            "Not my bag," Dave says.

            "Shut up and try it."

            It's actually the exact opposite of not-his-bag; Dave likes hookah fine, the few times he ever tried it, but his brother had been the one to hook him up and it leaves a sour taste in the back of his mouth when he thinks about it.  Still, he takes the hose and inhales, as long as Jade had, and he doesn't cough as he exhales, some of it from his nose but mostly seeping out of his mouth.  He'd be proud to look so cool, but that'd be stupid because he _is_ cool.  It'd be like being proud of his eyes or his winning personality; it's shit he's born with.

            John is trying again, but his coughing is still pretty bad.  Dave chugs down a good few gulps worth of gross malt beverage, then passes the hose back to Sollux and stands.  "Nah, still not my bag.  Gonna go have a regular smoke instead."

            To his surprise, Karkat shoves himself up too.  "I'm going to do that too," he says, with a look that dares Dave to disagree with him.  Nope, that's not happening - instead, he leads Karkat through the front door and down the few steps to where his car is parked, unlocking the door and reaching in for his pack of cigarettes. 

            "Surprised you want to be this far away from Egbert," Dave drawls.  A lighter clicks in response, and Dave turns to see Karkat lighting up an unfiltered cigarette.  He's a little surprised, actually, because he'd figured the kid would smoke something like ultra-lights or something.  Not straight up, unfiltered Camels.

            "Fuck you, I can tell he's not big on smoking and I'm not gonna just sit there and watch him suffer in a pit of tobacco-flavored despair."

            "It's Dave, by the way."

            "What?"

            "You said you still didn't know my name.  Which is a fucking lie, because John clearly mentioned it at least three times when this little shindig was getting formulated, but for the sake of good manners, I'll just reintroduce myself."  He flips open his Zippo, lighting it in the same motion (it's a cheap trick, but it serves its purpose), and lights his own cigarette before sticking out a hand.  "Dave Strider."

            Karkat stares at him like he's some kind of alien, then reluctantly shakes his hand.  "Karkat Vantas."

            "I already knew your name, dipshit."

            "Fuck you, that's how introductions work."

            Dave inhales and leans against his car, watching Karkat through his shades.  It's dark out, but that doesn't mean shit because he's gotten used to staring through his shades at all hours.  "You know Egbert is straighter than a fucking arrow, right?  Arrows wobble.  John doesn't."

            Karkat's scowl deepens and he sneers.  "I'm not fucking gay, dude, I'm not trying to hook up with him."  He looks awkward, and Dave takes pity on him for a moment, keeping quiet instead of flinging back an insult that would probably put Karkat into another screaming fit.  "He's just the only other person who actually shows up to our Lit class who _knows the material_."

            "He actually reads it," Dave says, "Unlike most of us, John has this crazy idea of actually doing the work for a class."

            Karkat inhales and scowls and basically looks like a dude who doesn't want to talk about any of this.  Dave lets the silence stretch, listening to how it grows into pure awkwardness.  He doesn't let it phase him, but he knows the other is getting even more irritable, right up until he breaks it with a frustrated sigh.  "I don't get to talk to a lot of people, okay?"

            "Sure."

            "Jesus Christ, _you're_ his friend, so it can't be that hard."

            Dave takes one last drag and then drops his cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with the heel of his shoe.  "Egbert might have the patience of a saint, but pro-tip, dude.  Don't point out that kind of shit around him."  He passes Karkat as he heads back in, not paying attention to the scowl or the way his face flushes from embarrassment.  It's not really worth looking back when you've let someone have it, after all.  It ruins the aloofness.

            He comes in to see Gamzee and Jade hauling out a large folding table, giggling to one another as John watches.  Sollux is still settled by the hookah, and so Dave wanders over to him, sitting down as Karkat reenters and stares at the scene unfolding.

            "Beer pong," Sollux clarifies as he exhales, "Except with Four-Loko and probably vodka."

            "Great," Dave drawls.

            "You're going to be on my team."

            Dave looks at Sollux, raising an eyebrow as the other holds out the hose for him.  He takes it and says, "I'm flattered, but I don't think I like you speaking for me on the first date."

            "It's pretty obvious how it's going to go.  John and Karkat will team up, Jade and Gamzee are practically on the same distant planet, so that leaves you and me to play the winner."

            Dave lets himself smirk, relishing in the fading taste of blueberry and mint.  "Cool."

            Gamzee asks Karkat to get some more party cups, and though Karkat grouses endlessly about it, he still goes to do what the other asks.  Dave wonders how that whole thing works - from what he's gathered, Gamzee doesn't go to school with him, and he doesn't work with Sollux or anywhere near the school itself, so he's not even sure how they know each other.  Gamzee looks older than them, the kind of old that means he never really broke out of the college days haze, and that's kind of unsettling but he lets it slide.

            Just like Sollux predicted, Jade and Gamzee go up against John and Karkat.  The ten cups on either side are filled with either Four-Loko or some vodka and RC, alternating back and forth so that there's not just nasty malt liquor to drink.  Karkat is a crack shot with a ping pong ball, though he looks awkwardly at John every time he lines himself up.  John, meanwhile... isn't so good at this.  Not nearly as good as Jade at least, who's always been pretty good with angles and shit, and Gamzee's a veteran from the way he barely even looks at the ball as he bounces it across the table and into the opposing cups.  It's only when half of their cups are gone that John finally makes his first successful shot, and he cheers loudly with Jade and throws an arm around Karkat's shoulders.

            That miraculous shot doesn't change the tide of the game, of course; Jade and Gamzee are too good, and Karkat's either getting too drunk or trying to not show off, because he doesn't manage to stave off their massive, nearly single-handed defeat.  John's had his share of alcohol by now, and he throws his arm around Karkat again and teases the sulking, sore-loserdom right the fuck out of him.  Even if it just makes him bitch and complain until John finds some chips and leads Karkat back to his room.  Dave notices that neither of them shut the door, as though they're preteens at their parents house who want to prove that they really are just studying, and not doing something else.

            "We're up," Sollux drawls, and Dave makes a point to crack his shoulders as he stretches his arms over his head.

            "You ready to lose?" Jade teases them, and Dave quirks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.  The truth is, he's not that great at beer pong.  He's only ever played it a few times, and each time had ended in either complete or near-complete disaster for him.  Luckily, Sollux seems more prepared; not only does he take the first drink of the game like a champ when Gamzee lands the ball in one of their cups, but he fires back the second it's his turn and doesn't break a sweat as he pops the ball off the table and into one cup, then another.

            Dave doesn't do well, and Sollux has no qualms about making him drink more than his share.  Dave can't really complain, though, because the other's the one who's winning the game.  If he gets any more drunk, he might lose his stride.  (Dave is drunk enough to chuckle at his own near-joke.  Stride.  Heh.)

            It's a close match, but Gamzee and Jade win again, and do a weird little victory dance around the kitchen in response.  Sollux doesn't look phased.  "Pretty sure Gamzee could be in an actual league, if he wanted," he explains as they make their way back to the couch.  Dave's steps are wobbly, and he forces himself not to make any quick moves, lest he upchuck all over the guy who's giving him a cockydorable smile.  Wow, no.  Cockdyorable?  Fuck that.  Cocky-adorable.  Dave's pretty sure hyphens are going to be his friend for the rest of the night.

            They sit on the ground in front of the couch, the pillows there being way more comfortable than the sofa.  "What's with the empty mount?" Dave asks, gesturing widely towards the television mount on the wall and nearly hitting Sollux in the face.  Sollux bats his hand away.

            "I dunno, I guess Gamzee accidentally broke it or something.  Who knows.  ...It being the T.V."

            "Right."

            Though he idly wonders what time it is, Dave can't muster up the energy to pull out his phone and check.  Sollux is staring at the wall.

            "...Sorry I can't fix your computer," he says after a minute.  Dave looks over at him, raising his eyebrows when he sees Sollux looking back at him, looking... kind of honestly upset over it.  Shit, he's a weepy drunk.

            "It's cool," he says, shrugging.

            "No, it's not."

            Sollux looks away, still visibly upset, and Dave frowns at him.  Sollux had pretty much told him from the start that his computer was probably fucked, right?  Why the fuck was it an issue now?  It isn't even as though it's going to ruin his life completely, or anything.

            "Dude, chill out."  Sollux shoots a glare at him, but he continues anyway, "It's not like I don't have drafts of my papers in my e-mail, and my website is, you know, fucking on the internet.  It's not like it matters what my computer's got on it.  Stop being a bitch about it and relax."

            "I'm _not_ -"

            "Seriously, don't even start."

            Sollux looks irritated, but that's better than looking upset, and Dave throws an arm over his shoulders despite the tenseness in the other's frame.  "Wow, so you can touch me, but I can't touch you?" Sollux snaps.

            "That's how Strider's roll," Dave drawls.  Sollux glares a little longer - and then, bam, there it is.  A little hint of maybe-sort-of amusement.  Dave congratulates himself on being fucking amazing at this sorting out bullshit thing.

            "You're fucking obnoxious," Sollux says, but he doesn't remove himself from Dave's arm and, what the hell.  Dave's drunk enough to admit that it's not a bad thing, even if the dude's fucking bony as hell.

            He reminds himself not to get used to it, though.  Once they pass out, everything is getting reset, and he's going to be back to being too cool for school.  No amount of maybe-sort-of-cute smirks or wheezy chuckles is going to change that shit.

***

            Sollux doesn't so much "wake up" as "sort of becomes aware of his surroundings."  His ankle is pinned, there's an arm over his thigh, and he can feel a wet patch growing on his hip, through his jeans.  He's wearing Strider's sunglasses, which is weird as fuck, but what's weirder is that he can hear John and Karkat talking in low voices by the front door.  Karkat is apologizing profusely, while John says, "It's okay, it's no big deal," in an awkward sort of voice.  ...An awkward sort of voice that makes Sollux's head ache.  Shit, how much did he actually drink last night?

            The door shuts, and Sollux dozes for a while longer, up until the headache building and the wet spot on his hip start to bother him too much.  He shifts, pushing himself up on an elbow and craning his neck; Dave is the one cuddling against him, drooling on him and generally being really fucking awkward.  He's pretty sure this situation would embarrass the fuck out of Dave, if he were aware of it.

            Sollux glances at his watch and scowls.

            "Hey, Strider," he mutters, kicking the other's shin with his free foot, "Stop drooling on me.  I need to go."

            "Mgh."

            Dave's strawberry blond hair is a complete mess, and through his bangs, Sollux catches a glimpse of deep brown eyes, a weird shade that almost looks red.  "I have to get to work," Sollux adds, shoving his face away from his side and rolling away.  He realizes as he sits up that his car... is still in front of Tate's.

            Dave's hand comes out of nowhere and snatches the sunglasses from Sollux's face; he slides them on easily and tries to surreptitiously wipe at his mouth as he sits up.  "What time is it, even?"

            "Nine-thirty."

            "John's got a class in like... five minutes, shit, he's gonna be such a bitch about that."

            "I think he and Karkat already took off, like a while ago.  I was kind of fading in and out."  Sollux hesitates for a moment, running his hand through his hair and looking around for his glasses; when he finds them, he puts them on with a sigh.  "Do you think you could give me a ride to Tate's?  I sort of left my car there last night."

            He's surprised when Dave doesn't respond with sarcasm; he just raises his arms up and stretches.  "Sure, I guess.  Gotta pick up my computer anyway.  Let me find Jade."

            Dave doesn't seem phased in the slightest at being in a stranger's house.  He makes himself right at home, wandering to the kitchen to get some water and digging around until he finds a bottle of Advil before heading off to find the bathroom.  Sollux fuzzily calls out directions, then follows him, leaning against the wall and waiting for him.  "I'm kind of in a hurry," Sollux says.

            "Hold your fucking horses, dude.  Harley's got to be here somewhere, unless you heard her leave with Egbert.  She's loud as fuck when she wakes up."

            "She might've crashed in Karkat's room," Sollux offers.  Dave trudges down the hallway and pushes open one of the two bedroom doors; Karkat's room is a mess, but it's empty of any living beings.  He tries the other door.  Sollux leans over his shoulder, having not seen Gamzee's room since he last tried to clean it - it's a fucking mess, with more blankets on the ground than on the bed -

            "Ugh, did not need to see that," Dave says, pulling the door partially shut and effectively hiding Gamzee and Jade from view - of course, he isn't fast enough, because Sollux is pretty sure the smear of black and white paint on Jade's shoulder and Gamzee's completely visible ass is going to be ingrained in his mind for a while.  "Harley," he calls, "Are you gonna catch a ride with me, or stick around with Chuckles?"

            Jade makes an incomprehensible noise, yawning loudly and making the bed creak - hopefully with her sitting up or something.  "Uh, yeah," she calls, "One sec."  Gamzee says something so quietly that Sollux can't pick it out, and Jade giggles.  She calls out after a moment, "You can come in, by the way!"

            "Only if that Juggalo ass is sufficiently covered," Dave retorts, but he pushes the door open anyway.  Jade is already wearing her shirt, pulling on her pants, and Gamzee is appropriately covered with a sheet.  Dave doesn't make any more wisecracks, though Sollux sees his shoulders shrug a little as she leans over and gets a kiss from Gamzee, leaving a little white smudge at the corner of her mouth.

            "Okay, let's go!" Jade says cheerfully, and she brushes by the two of them without looking back.  Dave follows, and Sollux stays long enough to give Gamzee a wave.  It's completely pointless, because Gamzee's already face-first in his pillows, but it makes him feel a little better about pretty much walking in on his naked ass.

            Dave's car is a piece of shit, but at least it'll get them where they need to go.  It has that distinct feel of being a decade old, with that weird musty smell that comes with smoking and cloth seats.  It's also warm, and when he starts it up, the vents blow overheated air at them until Dave rolls down his window.

            Dear fucking God, he's playing a CD that has Kirko Bangz on it.  That's fucking terrible.

            Jade is texting in the passenger seat, and at first Sollux is pretty sure Dave isn't going to bring up what they saw, but sure enough, they go over a pothole and Dave's glance slides across to her.

            "So."

            "Don't."

            "How was it, being subjuggalated?"

            Jade bursts out laughing, reaching over and smacking him on the shoulder.  Sollux can see him smirking in the rear-view mirror.  "Oh my god, you're fucking awful!"

            "Did he do _any_ juggling?  I got an eyeful of what he had to work with-"

            "Shut up, oh my _god_!"

            "-If he was trying to paint you up like a Juggalette, he sort of missed your face," he adds, gesturing to Jade's shoulder, which still has a little black and white paint on it.  "Got real good practice with your shoulder, though."

            Jade rolls her eyes at him and punches his shoulder again, and Sollux finds himself noticing that Dave's smirk isn't so much a smirk as it is a smile.  It's kind of nice.

            He finds himself grinning; Dave pushes his shades down enough to meet Sollux's eye clearly in the rearview mirror, and...

            Well, they're kind of attractive, as far as eyes go.

            Sollux quickly looks out the window, because oh, no.  Fuck that noise.  Fuck that noise right in its deadpan, snarky voicebox.

            Dave chuckles and Sollux can feel his face heating up, which only makes the rest of the drive that much worse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose breaks some news and Sollux gets invited to karaoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really to note in this chapter, other than the fact that I'm basically blatantly building up really shitty twists worse than uu does. :|

            Rose misses her family and friends terribly.  Although she keeps in near-constant contact with one of her half-brothers, somewhat-occasional contact with the other, and although her cousin has been doing her utmost to keep her entertained and busy, she still sometimes wishes she could see her hometown in person.  It's worse, because this semester has been so difficult and she had stayed for each break, instead of returning home.

            The pang of being separated from what she knows so intimately is only compounded by the long letters she receives from Kanaya.  Although they both do occasionally speak through texts or instant messages, the two of them had come to an agreement quite quickly, and most of their correspondence is done through traditional mail.  It is lovely, if a little bittersweet.

            Thankfully, this is her last semester in New York, before she returns home for the summer and, possibly, for all time.  She's not sure what she'll be doing once she graduates, which is always a shock to realize; she feels so secure in her psychoanalytical abilities, as well as in her writing, but she can't imagine putting them to any real use back home.

            Roxy's mentioned how much easier it would be to get work in New York about sixteen times this past month.  Her advisor has mentioned it twice.  In both cases, Rose suspects that their motives are not completely altruistic.

             There's a lull in the pre-class conversation as the professor enters.  Rose smiles, something small and secretive, as she takes note of the gray spreading through his blond sideburns; when she'd found that he still dyed his hair to cover up the gray, she'd quoted the Bible, Jean Paul and Sophocles until he'd declared that she had changed his mind on the whole thing.

            She wonders if anyone else has noticed that he wears a gray suit once a week as he straightens his bow tie and takes off his glasses to clean the lenses.  She imagines they probably haven't, or if they have, they haven't considered what it says about him.  White suits must leave a hefty dry cleaning bill.

            He begins the hour and a half class by returning papers; Rose takes hers from the girl in front of her and doesn't blink at the B- in the corner, written in green ink.  She notices that the others around her have scored lower, though not significantly, but doesn't say anything about that, either.

            He has the only paper to receive an A, and reads its introduction for the class before handing it back to the girl with long black hair in the front row.  Rose takes notes as he explains the difference between the A and B papers, then watches him idly as he explains the difference between B and C papers.  Nobody receives a grade below D, not any more, so he doesn't bother explaining that one.

            The class is, as always, intellectually stimulating, and Rose takes a plethora of notes, some in shorthand when he begins to get too invested in the lecture to slow down.  At the end, he gives them their last study packet of the semester and excuses them.

            She idles as she puts her textbook and notes away, waiting until the majority of the students have left to approach the desk.  She waits for her turn to speak with the professor, watching each student file out as their requests or questions are answered to.  When it's her turn, the only one still in the classroom is the girl with the A paper, texting away on her phone as she waits for the next class to start.

            "I hope you are not about to dispute your grade, Ms. Lalonde," he says.

            "Not at all.  I was hoping we could schedule an appointment to discuss my future prospects, is all.  It is, after all, your advisory duty."

            He takes a moment to check his day planner, and then smiles politely.  "Would tonight be too late for you?"

            "I believe I'm free."

            "Five-thirty, then."

            "Thank you, I'll see you then."  She smiles at him and casts her gaze to his hair, then back to his eyes.  She had drunkenly described them as malachite in color.  It was one of her more excellent descriptors, she thinks.

            She doesn't look to the girl waiting in her seat as she leaves, nor does she look over her shoulder; she doesn't need to.  She knows who isn't watching her, and who is.

*******

            Sollux is definitely not waiting for a text.  He's sitting in the back room, going through an inventory sheet, and not looking over to the phone sitting beside a custom built tower, which is currently plugged into a monitor that displays a blue screen full of errors.  It's been two days since Strider had told him to give his computer another shot, and he hasn't been looking forward to a text from the other at all since then.

            Definitely.

            There's something to be said for the moods he seems to swing in and out of - these ones are fucking obnoxious, but they make him feel jittery in a good way, and any lingering depression from the night before has evaporated.  He's eager to do something, and since he's not getting any contact with any people right now, it's making him work at nearly double-time.

            Still, he keeps looking at his phone.

            It's a miracle when he hears the door chime open, and he tosses the inventory clipboard onto the work bench as he heads out to the public area of the store.  There's a girl in a cat-eared hooded vest and a pair of shorts standing in the doorway, looking a little out of place.  He's seen her come in a few times, but he doesn't know much about her, other than the fact that she occasionally buys a keyboard and is one of the few people who actually buys soda from the vending machine in the corner.  Something about her face - her broad nose, the way her hair peaks slightly - reminds him of someone, but he can't ever place her.

            "Hey," he says.  "What's up?"

            He feels justified in giving her a causal welcome, and she seems to appreciate it from the way she beams at him, with a little scar from just below her nose to her mouth that curves her upper lip a little.  He smiles back, unable to help it.

            "Not much!" she says, bounding forward with plenty of energy, "I was just stopping by on my free period to pick up some stuff."  She giggles and says, "Not really busy here, huh?"

            "Not usually," Sollux admits.  "You need help finding what you're looking for?"

            She hesitates momentarily, then nods.  "Yeah, um.  I'm looking for a television, actually.  I only have a little money to spare for it, though, but I'd like it to at least be in color."

            "We should be able to help you out there," he says, and he leads her over to the wall of televisions, moving immediately for the flatscreens.  He doesn't want to try peddling some of the cheap old 90's sets on the girl.  "How much are you looking to spend?"

            "Um."  She shrugs, "Around two-hundred?  I dunno, _maybe_ two-fifty, if you're really cool about how you sell it to me."

            Chuckling a little to himself, Sollux points out a thirty-inch Sansui sitting on the display shelf.  "This one's only two-thirty; it comes with a six-month in-store warranty and all the original boxing, cables..."  She looks unsure, so he adds, "The only other one that comes with all it's original stuff is the fifty inch behind the counter, so you're not getting a bad deal."

            "...Um."  She looks suddenly gun-shy, and he frowns at her until she asks, "How... sturdy is it?"

            "Are you gonna mount it to a wall?"

            "Um, no?  It's just gonna sit on a table, about... this high?"  She gestures with her hand and he shrugs his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets.

            "Yeah, if you're not planning on chucking a remote at it or knocking it off in a fit of gamer's rage, you should be fine.  If it tips over, or if you don't actively try to destroy it, it'll be covered under our warranty, so you'll be okay."

            She looks mildly relieved and nods, smiling.  "Yeah, okay!  That sounds pretty good!"

            She rolls her R's, he realizes, and that makes the bump in her lip and the cat ears on her hoodie only that much more adorable.  He smirks and nods.  "Sure thing.  I'll go get all the stuff for it, then - anything else you need to pick up?"

            She hesitates again, and then says, "Um, maybe a keyboard.  A wireless one," she adds quickly, "Because I'd like to... uh, hook my computer up to the television."

            "Cool," he says, and he nods to the other side of the shop.  "You know where the keyboards are, I've seen you come in enough to know that one."

            Her cheeks flush pink, but he takes pity on her and doesn't laugh.  He just heads to the back to get the box and the various pieces that are stored within, dragging it out and ringing it up before getting the television and packing it up.

            The girl takes a while to pick out a keyboard, and when she finally brings it up front, he notices it's from the clearance bin - the same one that big guy always picks his out of.

            Suddenly, the broad nose and the widow's peak remind him of the bodybuilder, and he blinks at her curiously.  "Hey, you wouldn't happen to be related to a big dude with a ponytail, would you?"  He's not even sure why it matters; he just can't help but ask.  It's out before he can even think about it.

            "Um."  She bites her lower lip, then smiles and nods, though it's a little more subdued than before.  "Yeah, he's my dad!  Big guy with all the muscles, right?"

            "Yeah, that's him."  He doesn't want to ask, but it comes out before he can stop himself.  "He already needs another keyboard?"

            He realizes immediately that he's making her uncomfortable, but before he can calm her fidgeting by telling her he'll drop it, she replies quietly, "The A-key kept sticking."

            Sollux doesn't know what to say to that.  So, he doesn't say anything; he just rings up the keyboard and gives her the price.  She looks humiliated, but he doesn't know how to fix it.  His own moods are hard enough to deal with - he can't really do anything for anyone else's.

            He thinks he's saved when the door opens, but it just turns out to be Gamzee, who strolls in as though he's actually looking for something.  "Sup, brother," he calls, and Sollux gives him a wave as the girl hands over her credit card and I.D.

            "Hey, G.Z."

            Gamzee moves around the counter without noticing the customer, but soon enough he realizes they aren't alone and beams lazily at the girl, who's looking at him with a mix of surprise and apprehension.  Sollux seriously doesn't get why people are freaked out by black and white clown makeup.  It's not that freaky, is it?

            "Hey, little sister," he drawls, "What're you all getting up to, this fine afternoon?"

            "Um."  She glances between Sollux and Gamzee, and then says, "Just, you know, buying electronics!"  She says it in that nervous sing-song that people use when they don't know how to explain that they aren't comfortable, and so Sollux tries to ease her mind.

            "Gamzee does janitorial work here," he says, and that actually seems to do the trick.  He's no longer a stranger who just walked right in, he's an employee.  To her, at least.

            "Oh.  Hi, then!"

            "Hey," Gamzee repeats, unphased.  "Say, you're lookin' all sorts of familiar, little sister.  What's your name?"

            Sollux purses his lips, but the girl doesn't actually seem uncomfortable by the line.  Probably because she can tell that Gamzee doesn't mean it as a pick-up or anything.  "Nepeta," she says.

            "That's a real motherfucking nice name, Nepeta.  I'm down with that.  Yo," he says, as though he's realizing something, "Do you all go to that school what serves for higher learning?"

            "...He means the community college," Sollux supplies when Nepeta looks to him.

            "Oh.  Oh!  Yeah, I do.  Do you?"

            "Nah, sis.  My best bro's all up and being there, but I just swing by to check on him.  Karbro's got his shit, I've got mine.  Might've been I saw you there."

            "Maybe!"

            Sollux realizes he still hasn't swiped Nepeta's credit card - he's kind of entranced by Gamzee talking to people who aren't in their group.  It's like watching the most bizarre cultural documentary to ever go up on television.  He quickly charges her card and hands it back, along with the I.D., and asks, "Do you want help out?"

            "Lemme get it," Gamzee says before Nepeta can reply, picking up the relatively heavy box without any problems.  Sollux is sometimes put off by how strong Gamzee is, given that he looks like a malnourished street performer, but it's better to have a guy like him around than to try and lift shit on his own.

            Nepeta waves goodbye as she follows Gamzee out, and Sollux returns it despite the fact that she can't see it.  He returns to the back and picks up his inventory, and it's only then that he notices he's gotten a message since he went to help Nepeta.

            Dave is in his contacts under "Iin2ufferable Priick."  Sollux hadn't put him in there, and hadn't even noticed he'd been added until he'd gotten a text shortly after being dropped off at Tate's the morning after the party.  Something about Dave using his weird little text quirk pleases him and freaks him out at the same time, but he tries not to think about it.

            _karaoke night friday you in_

            Sollux frowns at the text as though it's some kind of cipher.

            _What make2 you thiink ii do any kiind of 2iingiing?_

            _fuck that its to watch jade and john make asses of themselves obviously plus karkles and chuckles are coming_

            _2o ii'm an afterthought?_

There's no reply.  Sollux pushes his glasses up his forehead and pinches at the bridge of his nose, regretting sending something so blatantly, obnoxiously upset.  He's not even upset.  Why _would_ he be anything but an afterthought?  Karkat and John are friends from school, Gamzee and Jade are... whatever _they_ are, but he's just the asshole fixing Strider's computer.  That's not exactly an _in_ , not as far as he's aware.

            Gamzee enters the back room, humming to himself, and Sollux winces as though the sound actually hurts.  "Sweet chick," Gamzee says, "She's all flowers on a summer day, a big old step up from that down and out motherfucker she's up and calling her pop."

            "Yeah, whatever," Sollux says, sounding petulant and feeling like shit for it.  The inventory list gets shoved aside again, this time because Sollux is in no mood to fuck with it any more.

            His phone beeps with a new message but he doesn't look.  He doesn't need to look at the platitudes or whatever Strider might give him.

            "You got a message, Solbro."

            "I _know_ that."

            Gamzee shrugs and flops into the beanbag chair, plugging the Playstation into the television and flipping it on.  Sollux scowls at the back of his head, wondering why he's not mentioning this so called date he's got, then yanks his phone into his hand out of spite.  Might as well get this shit over with.

            _i wasnt gonna invite any of you but that shits out of my hands. dont make me be the fifth wheel dude._

            There's no platitude and no attempt to reassure Sollux in the text, and instead of pissing him off even more, it somehow reassures him.  He glances up at Gamzee.

            "Are you going to some kind of karaoke night?"

            "Aw yeah, bro," Gamzee says, craning his head backwards, "Some bar down on the strip, Jade all up and invited me to get my motherfucking sing on.  You coming?"

            Sollux chews his lip and looks at his phone, then shrugs.  "I guess."

            " _Sweet_ , motherfucker.  I was thinking of inviting that sweet senorita Nepeta, but she's all underage and shit.  Tough break, motherfucker.  She and Jade would get along like cats and dogs."

            "Cats and dogs don't get along, G.Z.," Sollux says with a reluctant grin.

            "Nah, that's just all their motherfucking upbringing.  I've seen all of those Youtube videos with the kittens being curled up motherfucking tight with their doggy bros.  Rotties and shit."

            Sollux rolls his eyes, but it's just for show, and Gamzee laughs and goes back to making a fucking mess of Sollux's Chrono Cross save file.

            Finally, he types out, _Alriight, ii'll take piity on you ju2t thi2 once._

            Dave sends back the most obnoxious smiley, _(_ _◕‿◕✿),_ and Sollux can't help but find that hilarious, laughing so hard that even Gamzee stares at him with some concern, but he waves it off and picks up his clipboard, digging back into his work and feeling much better for it.

*******

            Rose arrives at her advisor's office five minutes earlier than their scheduled appointment.  She uses those minutes to check her makeup in an antique compact mirror, a habit she's come to develop from spending so much time with Roxy.  Her advisor is still talking with another student, the door closed but his voice drifting into the hallway.  He conducts himself similarly to when he's in class, and she can tell by his tone that he's invested in whatever situation he's talking about, though she can only pick out snippets of the conversation.

            The girl with the A paper leaves at five-thirty-six, giving Rose a cursory smile as she passes.  Rose returns it as she stands and breezes through the doorway without knocking.

            "Keeping me waiting?" she asks, allowing her amusement to show.  He looks a little worn down, as though the previous conversation had made him want to tear his hair out.  He pushes a file back into the cabinet in the corner, then returns to his seat, settling into it as though it's his only reprieve this afternoon.  Rose imagines that might not be far from the truth.

            "Only out of sheer stubbornness, I assure you," he says, and when she pushes the door closed with her foot, he finally allows his shoulders to slump, lifting a hand to run through his hair.  "I'm certain that girl thinks I'm some sort of monster."

            "God knows giving her an A on most of her papers makes you truly evil.  You must be stopped."

            Rose sits across the desk and relishes in the less-than-perfunctory smile he gives her at that.  "A man like me cannot be stopped simply because a college co-ed says so.  If that were the case, I'm sure I would have been taken down far sooner than now."

            Crossing one leg over the other, Rose regards the professor sitting in front of her.  "Some of us have more talent than others, you know."  She smiles, another small and secretive affair, "Maybe you've met your match with that one."

            He pauses, considering for a moment - all for show, she's sure - and then rests his chin on top of clasped hands.  "I don't think she is the one I have to worry about."

            Rose smiles.  _Good answer_.

            "So," he says, attempting to return to business despite the too-friendly tone of the conversation, "Which matter shall I be advising you on tonight, Ms. Lalonde?"

            She knows it's futile to do this now that the atmosphere is so drastically different from what she had almost hoped for, but Rose attempts to return to business as well.  "I've been thinking about what you said.  About pursuing a doctorate?"

            "Ah."  He smiles, and the sincerity of it would be shocking if she weren't used to it.  "Yes.  Graduate school would be an excellent choice for someone of your abilities, as I've made clear."

            "And you've made clear that there's an excellent course provided by a nearby school," she adds, unable to keep a teasing tone from her voice.  He frowns at her, and she reluctantly returns to the actual matter, rather than harassing him for the fun of it.  "Of course, I did the research, and you are correct.  Everything about the school strikes my fancy, from its campus and it's location to the course itself."

            "But," he says.

            "But," she agrees.  He sits back again, and now she wonders if he's using the chair to prepare him for some kind of blow.  She tries to look reassuring, even as she rejects his suggestions.  "I think it would be better for me to take at least a year off before pursuing a higher degree.  I miss being home on a more permanent basis, and it might behoove me to return."

            Despite the fact that she isn't going to change her mind, she feels no less guilty when he nods in complete understanding.  It feels just as bad as when she'd explained it to Roxy.  Then again, Roxy has the choice to come right along with her, if she wants to.  Things are significantly harder between her and her professor.

            "Of course.  I do hope that you consider what I've offered later on, when you feel ready to pursue another degree."  His expression doesn't change from mild professionalism, and she frowns a little at that.  "You're one of the few students I trust to come back to school after an extended break.  I doubt anyone could keep you away."

            "You've not met my brothers," she says.  She means it as a joke, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes, and she has to admit, "That was in poor taste."  For more than one reason.

            "It's all right."

            Her business is officially done with, and so Rose decides that that little misstep of hers serves as a perfect way to enter a new conversation.  "No, it's not.  I think I'll have to make it up to you, somehow."

            He tilts his head.  She notices gray along his hairline.  "I wonder what you think will make up for such a slip."

            Before she can respond, her phone beeps with a text; irritably, she picks it out of her purse and checks it to find a text from Roxy.  It's incoherent.  A confused noise, "uh," slips from her lips as she tries to puzzle it out, and when she looks up, her professor is smiling another one of those small, sincere smiles.

            "Dinner," she says suddenly, realizing what Roxy's trying to actually say; she then continues seamlessly, "I'll cook.  Of course, it will have to be your house, given that I have a roommate."

            "My," he says, quirking an eyebrow, "Isn't that forward."

            "And yet, you'll say yes," she replies, pushing her chair back and standing.  "If you bring the very good wine, I'll bring the chicken piccata."

            "Plying me with Italian?"

            "Of course."  She straightens her skirt and looks at him through her lashes - she's not afraid to use them against him, not in the slightest.  "Of course, if you have prior appointments..."

            "I'll set them aside," he says, and she smiles.  It feels so nice to finally be able to give a sincere, wide-lipped smile that doesn't serve any hidden purpose, and the look in his eyes shows her that he's thinking the same thing.

            "Excellent.  Eight-o'-clock, Friday.  Unless that's too early for a man of your significant age."

            "A low blow, Ms. Lalonde, given that you only just recently told me that old age is like a second youth."

            "That isn't exactly what I said, and if you recall, what I _said_ was not exactly a compliment."

            "Nothing you say is _exactly_ anything."  He stands up and moves around the desk, going to the door and opening it for her.  "Eight will be fine, Ms. Lalonde.  I will see you then."

            Rose passes through the door, leaving only a brief but brazen touch to his shoulder to indicate that she'd heard him at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nepeta makes a bad life decision and the crew go to karaoke night at a gay bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for mentions of serious anger management problems and the kids who have to deal with them. I want to be really fashionable and dedicate this chapter to someone, but I know better.

            It's Friday evening, and Nepeta has a final on Monday.  It's her _final_ final, even, the last one of her freshman semester, the one that indicates she has successfully completed an entire year of college.  It's not even a big one, all things considered, because it's the lazy man's math class - the one where kids who suck at math go to languish and fulfill their credits.

            She understands how to do all the work. All she really needs to do is make sure she hasn't missed anything.  It should be an easy thing to study for.  It shouldn't be giving her so much trouble.  But she's so distracted, listening to the sounds of chair legs scraping against linoleum and plastic cracking and windows slamming and feet _stomping_ , heavy footfalls across the floor that make her feel like a cornered animal.  She knows she doesn't have anything to fear.  Her dad, no matter how mad he gets, no matter who pisses him off, never climbs the stairs and never comes after her in any way other than verbally.  And even then, he always apologizes almost immediately after opening his mouth.

            She knows her dad is miserable, and she knows it's not her fault.  She knows he feels overwhelmed so much because he has to run a garage, and pay for her school, and he does it all without anyone there to help him.  He pulls more than his share of the weight at work, stays up late with taxes and income and bills, and pays for her schooling even if he doesn't like what she's studying at all.  So she knows that he has a reason to be angry all the time, and that he knows it's wrong, and that he tries to stop himself.

            But sometimes, when he's stomping around and growling to himself and saying things that are almost-but-not-quite swear words ( _no swearing in this house, Nepeta Zahhak, you are better than that_ ), sometimes she thinks he might forget not to come upstairs.  Even worse, sometimes she forgets to hide that fear when she's around him, and the look in his eyes when he realizes it upsets her deep in her stomach.  He always hugs her when he sees it, and she can feel all that anger go right out of him, and maybe if he could hug her all the time it'd be okay.

            But he can't, because he has work and she has school and she really can't be the only one in his life.

            Math isn't happening, that's for fucking sure.  ( _No swearing in this house!_ )

            She turns on her computer and browses the internet until she hears a crack, a strangled near-swear, and the internet goes out.  He needs to get a new router, because there's only so much the one they have can put up with.

            It's after eight in the evening, and Nepeta really, really wants to get out for a little bit.  But her friends are all swamped with their own finals - Tavros has one on _Sunday_ , somehow, and Vriska, well... she's busy too.  Probably.  And Nepeta doesn't feel comfortable just going out on her own.

            Her phone's alarm beeps, indicating that the time she'd set aside for studying is over, and she considers her options.  Her dad is making weird, unhappy noises downstairs, ones she knows she shouldn't be hearing, ones that make everything feel worse -

            She hesitates for just a moment, then digs into her contacts and hits send.  She nearly hits voicemail before the call is picked up.

            "Yo, sister.  What's up?"

            "Oh."  She bites her lip, suddenly regretting the move because Gamzee, nice as he seemed, is _creepy_ in a way she can't explain.  Then she says, "Hi, Gamzee."

            "Hey."  As if he hadn't already greeted her - except his voice sounds different, more solemn, though still lilty and strange.  "You not getting up to any motherfucking studying, sis?  None of that learning getting implanted up in your big old brain tonight?"

            "Ha, um.  No.  Not... really.  Um, actually - I was just wondering if maybe that thing you suggested about me maybe hanging out for a little bit..."

            "Aw man, you want to come chill out?"  Gamzee sounds pleased as punch, and Nepeta shifts in her chair, kneading the hem of her cargo shorts with her fingers.

            "Is that still okay?"

            "Hell motherfucking yeah, sister, it's all sorts of okay.  Uh.  Hold on a sec."  His voice is suddenly muffled, and Nepeta hears static from a radio and two voices she kind of almost recognizes.  One of them is louder than the other, but she can't make out what's being said.  "Yeah, hey, we're all up and heading out to a bar for some motherfucking singalongs and shit.  You can come, if you're still wanting to."

            "Oh..."  Nepeta wants to pull at her hair.  Of course the twenty-one-and-up crew are going to a bar, that's what people do on Fridays, right?  "I don't really think I can get in."

            Another muffled conversation, then Gamzee laughs throatily and says, "No problem, Nep, I got you covered all sorts of ways.  You want us to swing by and get you for some partying?"  When Nepeta doesn't speak up right away, Gamzee continues, his voice getting softer and more somber without losing that lilt.  "It'll help you sort yourself out, sister.  I'm all sorts of motherfucking positive about that."

            She remembers what he said to her after he'd loaded the television into her trunk - "Sometimes, you just gotta get out, even if you don't want to, especially if it's all sorts of negative thinking that's got you caught up in the situation." - and she nods.  Of course, he can't see her, so she quickly says, "Um, yeah.  How about I meet you at the corner, though?  I don't... think my dad would be really big on me hanging out with you.  No offense!"

            "Nah, none taken.  Gimme the crossroads, we'll be hitting you up quick as you motherfucking please."

            There's no reason to ask who "we" is; Nepeta really doesn't care right now.  All she wants to do is get out for a little while and clear her head.  So she gives him the corner she'll be at, and he tells her they'll be there in fifteen.  After she hangs up, she spends five minutes throwing on a clean pair of jeans and one of her favorite shirts, one that has a tiger face emblazoned on it, so big and stylized that it takes a minute or two to see it.  It's the only shirt she could imagine wearing to a bar.  She even goes all out and wears the only pair of nice shoes she has - sandals that make her look an extra inch taller.  She bets that looking taller makes you look older.  After a thought, she puts on some eyeliner and a little lipgloss.  Why not?  It's mature.

            She brings her cat-eared sweatshirt.  Just in case.

            Her dad is in the kitchen when she creeps downstairs, and she leans into the room to watch him.  He has a glass of milk in front of him and is reading a book.

            "I'm gonna go out with some friends for a little bit," she says.

            "Have you finished studying?"

            "Yep!"  She beams at him when he looks at her, wearing that weary smile that he doesn't actually feel, and his eyes look red and puffy.  "I've got it down, no problem."  She feels bad for lying, but not miserable.  It's not that hard.

            There's a second where she sees him want to argue, just for the sake of it; his eyebrows crease and his tired smile turns into a frown, then almost a scowl - and then he just nods, and he looks so alone in that moment that Nepeta almost doesn't want to leave.

            "Of course.  Then you may go.  Have a nice time."

            She doesn't go to hug him, because if he saw her wearing her nice shoes and noticed that her jeans were the really clean, rarely-worn ones, he'd ask questions and probably get into an argument over it, so she just smiles and blows him a kiss.  "I will!  See you later!"

            She skitters out of there before he can say anything.  When she gets to the corner light, she leans against the pole and tilts her head back so she won't mess up her makeup by getting misty-eyed.

***

            Sollux thinks that if he were with anyone else, picking up an eighteen-year-old on the street corner would be considered pretty fucking sketchy.  As it stands, Karkat barely even blinks as he pulls a U-turn and brakes next to the curb in front of Nepeta, who looks just as uncomfortable as Sollux feels.  Gamzee reaches over and pushes the back door open, and Sollux turns his head so that he can see Nepeta as she climbs into the back, next to Gamzee.  "Hey," he says.

            She looks nervous.  "Hi."  Her eyes lock onto Karkat's as he looks in the rear-view mirror and gives her a wave; even in the evening gloom, he can see her blush.

            "Have you figured out how you're going to handle the massive fucking illegality of this plan yet?" Karkat snaps.  Gamzee waves vaguely as they start off down the street.

            "Brother, don't be worrying your head one bit.  I've got this all motherfucking figured out, no problem."  Gamzee turns to Nepeta, and Sollux turns his head to look back out the windshield.  He doesn't really need to see the two of them conversing to know that weird, smaller-than-normal smile is still on Gamzee's face.

            "Thanks for picking me up," Nepeta says quickly, "I know I'm kind of a liability, going to a bar and all, but I really appreciate it."

            "Yeah, no problem."  Karkat sounds unimpressed, which Sollux knows is just his general tone for whenever he's unbothered by whatever's going on around him - he wishes he'd at least try to be a little more friendly, but that's not really Karkat's thing.  "Gamzee said you needed a break from studying."

            "More like a distraction," Nepeta says, carrying an uncomfortable laugh with her words, "Kind of a breather, you know?"

            "You're talking to a master procrastinator, I know exactly what a break entails."  Karkat pauses, then says, "Well, for me at least.  You're underage, so you're not really going to get to get drunk and watch people make fools of themselves without feeling too much secondhand embarrassment."

            Gamzee clicks his tongue, a sound that would be annoyed for anyone who isn't a six-foot-six juggalo who toked up about ten minutes before they'd left the apartment.  "Karaoke's a motherfucking psychological release, brother, don't be bashing it.  You can tell what all's going on in a person's life by what they think they're gonna be singing, and how the up and sing it.  Like taking your heart and throwing it up in the air like confetti."

            "Gross," Sollux says.

            "Holding out your heart ain't always motherfucking pretty, Solbro."  There's a pause, then Gamzee adds, "Besides, our little kitten-sister is gonna be able to get all sorts of plastered, if she wants.  I've got you covered."

            "Did you get me an I.D. or something?"

            Gamzee chuckles low in his throat and Sollux rolls his eyes when he refuses to reveal his plan, even when Karkat starts swearing at him.  He saves them all the terrible wrath of Karkat's increasingly more terrifying turns of phrases by pointing out cross streets and places where they need to turn left - then right, another left two blocks up - until they wind up in a back-alley parking lot for a dim looking bar.  Sollux has been here only once - bars that don't have formal names plastered outside them really don'tt make him too comfortable - but luckily, he'd remembered it well enough that they wouldn't get lost.

            "Wait, this place?" Karkat asks, suddenly skeptical as he pulls into a spot, "Isn't this a gay bar?"

            Sollux has to give Dave credit for keeping that bit of information from Karkat - he has a special knack for pushing all of Karkat's buttons that nobody else has ever really had.  ...Actually, given how recently they've met, that's a little creepy.

            "This is it," Sollux says, "Why?  You want to cancel?"

            " _No_ ," Karkat snaps in return, "Of course not.  I just wasn't expecting..."

            Gamzee is pulling Nepeta out of the backseat with a grin and a long, rambling explanation that nobody quite understands, and Sollux opens the passenger door.  "Don't freak out, K.K., it's not even that bad.  I've been here before, it's just a regular shitty bar with regular shitty people."

            Karkat follows behind Sollux, who trails back as he watches Gamzee and Nepeta approach the front door and the security standing in the way.  Gamzee says a few words, gives the bouncer a fistbump, throws his arm over Nepeta's shoulders and leads her inside.  Sollux is carded right after.

            "Never can be too careful," the guy says mildly.

            "Uh-huh."

            Karkat is carded as well and then they're inside, being serenaded by an ethereally off-key version of Paradise City.  The place is pretty packed, given the fact that it's not the most popular bar in town, but with graduation coming up and finals being over for most people, it's no surprise that there are more than a handful of people lining up to watch other near-grads make complete asses of themselves.

            Karkat is the first to notice that Gamzee and Nepeta have disappeared, but before either of them can pick them out of the crowd, John is waving them over to a table with an exaggeratedly large grin.  Even from this distance, Sollux can see a few shot glasses scattered between him, Jade and Dave.  Despite Karkat's reluctance, they wind their way through to crowd, reaching the table only to be accosted by Gamzee and Nepeta, who both have drinks in hand.  Nepeta looks concerned for her wellbeing, but Gamzee just grins and says, "Motherfucking seabreezes," before handing his glass to Karkat.  "Just the way you like 'em, Karbro."

            With a vaguely placated look, Karkat settles down in the seat next to John, holding his glass in both hands and looking darkly at Dave over the rim.  Sollux settles in between Dave and Jade; Gamzee disappears for a moment, returning with an extra chair, and together he and Nepeta squish in between Jade and John.

            "Looks like you could have stuck this one out," Dave says.

            "Last minute addition," Sollux replies, confident that the din is covering his voice from the rest of the group, who are leaning in close and making introductions to Nepeta, "Literally picked her up on the way here."

            "She's cute."

            "She rolls her r's when she talks."

            "Wow."  Dave pushes his sunglasses down his nose, looking over at Nepeta, who's too busy giggling with Jade to notice.  "Jade is gonna eat her up, man."

            "That's what Gamzee thinks, at least.  Also, wow, you're a huge douchebag."

            His head swivels to face Sollux, and when he raises a brow Sollux can't help but chuckle.  "Ouch.  What's with the rough treatment all of a sudden?"

            "You're wearing sunglasses inside at night.  You are a fucking douchebag, get over it."

            "Could be worse," Dave says, but he does push his sunglasses up, resting them against the top of his head.  He doesn't explain what could be worse, but Sollux doesn't really care.  "You want a drink?"

            There's a weird kind of sympathetic edge to Dave's voice when he says that, so instead of being catty, Sollux just nods.  "Jesus, yes."

            "Cool.  Be right back."

            Dave pushes out of his seat and wanders off; Sollux looks to the rest of the group and finds Karkat watching him with a judging, baleful stare.  Still from over the rim of his glass.

            "What?"

            "You are supremely fucking unsubtle," Karkat snaps, taking a long drink and scrunching up his nose.  "Jesus Christ, what did they put in this, turpentine?"  He takes another sip, as if he thinks he can prove how foul it tastes to himself by drinking all of it as quickly as possible, and Sollux leans against the table to get a better view of John, Gamzee and Jade, who are all looking over a large black binder full of song listings.  Nepeta is fiddling with the straw in her drink, glancing around as though afraid she's going to get caught.

            "Relax," Sollux says, loud enough for her to hear; she looks at him, startled, and he can't help but smile because she's adorable as fuck.  "You're in.  Nobody's carding inside."  He glances over as John gets up, but neither of the other two seem to notice, so he doesn't say anything.

            "Yeah," Karkat says, "Drink your fucking turpentine and be thankful."

            "Jesus, K.K., can you be _any_ more of a dick?"  Sollux socks Karkat on the shoulder, and Karkat nearly spills his drink as he winces away from the blow.

            "Fuck right off a cliff and swan dive into the rocky shoreline."

            "You guys swear an awful lot," Nepeta says, just before taking a deep breath and swallowing down some of her seabreeze.  She doesn't look like she likes it.

            "Sorry," Sollux offers, but she shakes her head.

            "No!  It's okay!  I just never hang out with anyone outside of my friends from high school, so it's weird!  A good weird, though - are you guys going to sing too?"

            Karkat belts out a hoarse little laugh.  "Fuck that, I don't sing."

            "What are you talking about?  I hear you sing in the shower all the time," Sollux says, and the look of mortification on Karkat's face is enough to spur him on.  "Like that one, what is it - bad kids!"

            "Fucking _don't_!"

            Sollux allows himself the shame of attempting to sing in favor of humiliating Karkat, belting out, "All my friends are bad kids!  Something, something, dad kids! Something like you and me!"

            Karkat's face is burning red, though Sollux can't tell if it's from humiliation or rage, and then there's a shot of Jägermeister in front of him and a beer being put in his hand, and Dave says, "Looks like John and Jade have a run for their money in you, Captor."

            The look of smug righteousness on Karkat's face makes Sollux's blush instantaneous, and only the glass in front of him saves the table from meeting his face.  "Oh my god, no."

            "Great set of pipes, except for the whole lisping thing," Dave continues, sitting down with his own shot and beer, "I mean seriously, right up there with Biz Markie."

            "Wow, fuck off."

            "Cheers."  Dave gestures with his shot glass, and Sollux picks it up, gratefully dropping the glass into his beer before chugging it all back in a few huge swallows.  It's pretty disgusting.  Sollux isn't a fan of Jäger - it's more Karkat's thing - but he doesn't complain because as far as he knows, the drink's on Dave, and looking a gift horse in the mouth is kind of a dick move.

            John reappears with a stack of little plastic tubs.  As he sets them out, he starts talking just loud enough to be heard over the din.  "So this is pretty much tradition, and since you're now officially our friends, you gotta bite the bullet and do this with us.  And since they only serve jello shots on Fridays, if you don't do this now you'll have to suffer a whole week of us scorning you before you can try again.  Trust me, I'm pretty good at scorning people."

            Sollux can't help but think that doing jello shots at a gay bar on karaoke night is probably the gayest thing he's ever done, but even Dave looks pleased with the situation so he doesn't say anything.  Besides, the way this night is starting, it looks like he might not have to buy any of his drinks at all.

            Gamzee and Jade swap their tubs and click the little plastic containers together in a cheer, before running their fingers around the edges and chucking the jello back.  Nepeta follows, but ends up having to pick pieces out when the shot doesn't come loose from the sides - not that it looks like she cares.  Karkat scowls until John pats his shoulder heavily and shows him how to do it.

            Dave is watching Sollux.

            "You gonna eat that?" he drawls, nodding towards Sollux's shot.  Sollux rolls his eyes and pries it loose, picking it up between two fingers and leaning his head back so that he can swallow it all at once, kind of like a goldfish.  Dave is still watching him, and without his glasses on, Sollux can see his eyes focusing on his throat.

            Before Sollux can say anything, John is shouting names of songs at Dave, tearing his attention away.  Sollux watches him as he casually shoots down song after song, until finally Jade pipes in with a song title Sollux doesn't quite catch, and Dave ducks his head with a chuckle and a nod.  Like, "yeah, sure, I guess."  Except with Dave, from what Sollux has seen, it's more extreme than that, since Dave doesn't exactly emote much.

            He smiles a little at that.  Karkat kicks his shin, but another quick punch to the arm stops that shit dead in its tracks.

***

            It's almost two hours into the festivities when John and Jade's song is called.  Dave settles back into his seat, feeling pleasantly unwound and buzzed in all the right ways, watching his friends pick their way through the crowd while waving their hands.  He's pretty sure that the song they lined up for him to sing will come too late, and they'll have all taken their leave by then, but there's a hesitant anticipation churning in his gut at the thought that he'll willingly go up there and embarrass himself in a bar full of drunken dudes who will be too busy staring at him to hear him slur through a song.

            He squashes the anticipation and the beginnings of excitement that follow, and watches as Gamzee slides another fruity drink across to Karkat.  Man, he's pretty sure that this is the point where they slide from fun-and-drunk to intoxicated-and-making-bad-decisions.

            That's his favorite part, though, so he just lets it happen.

            Sollux is chewing on ice from his drink, looking a little bored but mostly at ease, and Nepeta's helping Dave out by talking to him enough to keep him from leaving.  That'd been the point, after all, right?  Implying to Jade and John that their new buddies should come along, so he'd have a reason to invite Sollux?  Having an eighteen-year-old, slightly inebriated furry gently ease Sollux into the situation is just an added bonus.

            Jade and John are way too drunk to understand how terrible the song they've picked out is - it's some 1980's pop ballad from some forgettable cinematic massacre that John is obsessed with, and the crowd reacts appropriately, groaning in that good-natured way that means they were pretty much _expecting_ this at some point.  Dave's not sure he knows which movie it's from, or even who sings it, but he can appreciate the showmanship John and Jade exhibit while belting their way through the opening verse and first chorus.  He spies Karkat looking both absolutely enthralled and completely horrified, but the other three are cheering their erstwhile entertainment on.

            Haha, erstwhile.  Dave flips out his phone and texts Rose about his brand new five-dollar thought, despite knowing she's probably busy, and then catches Sollux singing the chorus under his breath and forgets all about his half-sister and her wordboners.

            "You gotta be kidding me," he drawls, "You know the lyrics."

            "Shut up," Sollux snaps with a grin, "It's a good fucking song, okay?"

            "You should've gone up and sung with them."

            "With my voice?  Yeah, fuck that, I'm not out to make a fool of myself."  Sollux's cheeks are liquored pink, and when he grins, his incisor sticks to his lower lip a little.  Dave knows it's trouble to focus on that - and on the way Sollux swallows down shots - but he's drunk enough to admit that there's no stopping it.

            "Don't think people would be paying attention to your singing.  Welcome to the universe where you ping everybody's radars, bro."  He gestures sloppily to the crowd around them, "An all you can eat buffet of soon-to-be-graduates and the people who snuck in thinking this was like eHarmony for gay singles in their area."

            Sollux chuckles and pushes his glasses up his nose with his pinky.  "Yeah, well, I'm sort of on a diet, so that's not really a thing."

            Dave quirks an eyebrow and tries not to think about what that's supposed to mean.

            "I'm going to get another drink," Karkat says suddenly, sounding out syllables with all the intensity of a dude way too drunk to be thinking about hitting up the bar.  But Gamzee waves him off, leaning in close to Nepeta, who's attention's been turned to Chuckles the Protector, and Dave figures they're probably all okay.

            "What kind of diet are we talking?" Dave hears himself ask, before he can slam a lid on that can of worms and shove it back into the Pandora's box it came out of.  "Full on crash diet, bad-breakup fasting, no-carbs or meat-only - never mind, obviously not the last one-"

            "Wow, you're _really_ drunk," Sollux says, grinning.  He drops his chin into his hand, his elbow slipping in the condensation from his glass and sliding a little against the tabletop.

            "What, just because I'm showing interest in my sixth-wheel lifesaver?  Which turned out to be completely fucking useless, by the way, since you brought along a seventh."

            "Because you won't shut up, pretty much, yeah."  Sollux nods into his hand, still grinning even as he drops his unoccupied hand into his glass and plucks out an ice cube.  Dave is distracted by the obscenely casual way Sollux pops the cube into his mouth, sucking on it rather than crunching it and wow-motherfucking-ee, he's really glad he has his sunglasses on.

            Oh shit he doesn't have his sunglasses on.

            "It's more like cutting McDonalds and extra snacks out, though."

            "What?"

            Sollux looks in his element, and Dave is drunk enough to be seriously apprehensive of that fact.  It must show on his face, because Sollux reaches out and pats his arm in an obnoxiously patronizing manner.  "Diets, man.  _Diets_."  He drags the word out, his lisp making the word kind of unparsable, but Dave gets it anyway and he purses his lips.

            "McDonalds is the cheapest, most delicious thing out there, dude.  You can't just cut that shit out of your life completely.  That'd be rude to Ronald over there."  He nods his head towards Gamzee, who doesn't notice, his forehead practically pressed against Nepeta's as they talk.  _Shit_ , he thinks, _Ronald's gonna get it on with Hello Kitty_.

            "You know you're calling every guy in here cheap with that shit," Sollux says.  "Your own admission, admit it, you just called yourself cheap."

  1. Might be packing my own plate full, you know?   Might be dishing up some fucking breadsticks, all-you-can-eat style."



            Sollux doesn't seem to be buying it, not with that look on his face, and Dave curses himself mentally and wonders how hard it's going to be to fix his reputation after tonight.

            Karkat comes staggering back to the table during John and Jade's final verse; he's got someone in tow, wearing fishnet and a short skirt and a shirt for a band Dave doesn't know.  He shouts over the terrible singing, "I need to go do something, can you get home on your own?"

            Sollux stares at Karkat blankly for a moment, then stares at the awkward - is that a chick?  Shit, he's too drunk for this - person hanging back, looking antsy and is that black lipstick?

            Yeah, that's black lipstick, and those are lip marks on Karkat's temple.

            "I'll get him back," Dave says, and Karkat looks at him for a second before nodding and backing into the crowd, followed by his androgynous hipster entourage of one.

            Sollux watches them go and says, wistfully, "I used to think I would get to do that."

            "Do what, take off with some dude in a drunken stupor and risk a D.U.I. for some tail?"

            Sollux smiles a drunk little smile and shrugs.  "Take K.K. home like that."  He grins a little wider and applauds for John and Jade's finished song, speaking all the while, "I used to have a huge crush on his chubby butt.  Not that it went anywhere."

            "And you just let him go with some random hipster?" Dave asks, "Giving up that easily?"

            Sollux's grin turns roguish - gotta text Rose that one too - and he says, "What, trying to hook me up with my ex-crush?  I definitely misjudged you, if that's the case."

            Dave stumbles for a response, but before he can coherently figure himself out, John and Jade are approaching the table and Gamzee and Nepeta are catcalling them a little.

            Dave knows they have two minutes to get out of here before his name is called.  John and Jade tell them that they want one more drink - water, for fuck's sake, you can get that _anywhere_ \- before they take off, and from the look on John's face, the reason is _abundantly_ clear.

            Shit.

            Sollux chews on another ice cube as John and Jade go to get one last round of waters and the bills, Dave's credit card safely entrusted to them.  "But no, I'm over it.  K.K. isn't really my style."  There's something nostalgic in Sollux's tone, but Dave doesn't ask him to elaborate.

            Dave watches John and Jade at the bar, dawdling and making every effort _not_ to catch the bartender's attention.  He already knows that they're taking their time specifically to make sure his name gets called and that he has to sing.  It's a dick move, one they pull every time they come here - it figures that the one time it works is _right now_.

            Sollux looks faintly bored and maybe vaguely nostalgic now that he's been distracted from Dave's terrible, drunk conversation, but before he can suggest that maybe they should get out of there and leave John with the job of getting everyone home safe, they call his name from the booth.  Sollux jerks his head as though he's just been shot at, then looks over at Dave in confusion.

            "You signed up?"

            "Uh."  Dave scowls, then shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, pushing his chair back.  "It's a thing.  John always signs me up, and if we're here too long, my name will get called and I'll be reeled right the fuck in."

            "Wow.  What are you singing?"

            Shit, he sounds so fucking amused, and Dave suddenly wants to punch John in the face for this shit.  But a Strider never backs down from a challenge, no matter how mortifying.  No matter how fucking horrible it might end up being.

            There's a sort of weird silence from Sollux as Dave leaves the table without answering his question, though Gamzee and Nepeta cheer him on.  He's just drunk enough for that silence to bother him, but he pushes on anyway, wandering with fake nonchalance up to the stage to claim his rightful place in the spotlight.

            On stage, he can barely see the people in the crowd due to the intense lighting, but instead of intimidating him, it only reminds him of the occasional shows that he uses to pad out his pay.  The lights are bright and he's the main attraction.

            Time to show these motherfuckers how to karaoke.

            Afterwards, he'll stroll up to Sollux and say...

            Say... something.  He'll definitely say something.

            When the music starts up, Dave suddenly remembers what song he picked.  Shit.  Maybe he won't say anything to Sollux.  Unless he likes it.  Maybe he'll understand the irony?  Yeah.  That'd be awesome.

            "This is more than a typical kinda thing - felt the jones in my bones when you were touching me, oh-oh!"  He belts out the lyrics with a bit of sloppy vocalization, but it only takes a line or two for him to gain back all his self-confidence from his drunken stupor.  The first few lines after his initial intimidation are pretty good, and then the ones after that only get more and more self-confident and maybe a little show-boaty.

            _Fuck yeah_ , he can handle this.  He can do this shit.  He slides his sunglasses down into place with casual finesse.  The glare is still intense, but now he's able to see the crowd - including Sollux.  Who looks mortified.

            Oh, man.  That's fucking _hilarious_.  Especially when it looks as though he's sinking lower into his seat with every line Dave sings.

            Haha, shit.  This is great - what the fuck had he been so concerned about?  Freaking out about impressing some nerd who can't even fix a computer?  Who the fuck did he think he was?

            He belts through the verses and the fact that he knows the crowd is eating this up only makes it impossible for him not to showboat at least a _little_.  "This kinda thing doesn't happen usually - I'm on the opposite side of it, truthfully -"

            Sollux isn't even visible, save for the top of his head.  Dave takes the microphone forward, and when he points the entire crowd (well, the guys at least) look at him like they're the one he's pointing at.  "I know you want it, so come and get it, _hah,_ cheerio!"

            When the crowd shouts "cheerio" back at him, he knows he's won at karaoke.  If karaoke was a sport, he'd have a gold medal in this shit.  Special fucking prizes and everything.

            He gets as close to a standing ovation as possible for a bar full of drunks and as he leaves the stage, no less than three guys give him their number.  One says, "I wouldn't _stop_ calling."

            "That's creepy," Dave says, but he tucks the number away anyway.

            Sollux looks horrified, his face mottled pink and his hands in his hair as though he's not sure if he's going to tear it out or if he just needs to brace himself against Dave's newfound popularity.  Probably the former, even if Dave wishes otherwise.

            "Now we can go," Dave says.  Casually.  _Coolly_.

            "That was so fucking stupid, I can't believe people liked that.  Holy shit.  Jesus."

            "I guess I'm just so cool that I make that shit look good no matter how drunk I am."

            "I thought it was great!" Nepeta says.  Dave flashes her as faint a smile as he can manage with his reputation on the line.  It seems to work.

            "Yeah, brother," Gamzee says, "You've got all sorts of energy going on up on that stage."

            "Thanks dude."  Dave looks to Sollux and then hears himself say, "Wanna get out of here?"

            Sollux frowns.  "What?"

            "There isn't gonna be enough room in John's shitty little car for all of us.  And if you have work tomorrow, I live closest.  So I can give you a ride  It makes sense."

            Nepeta pipes up, "I'm driving!  So they'll get home okay if you want a taxi."

            Dave shoots her a quick thumb's up.  Now _that's_ what a bro does.  Sollux doesn't see it, thankfully.  He just stares at Nepeta until Dave sees John and Jade walking through the crowd.  "If you don't want this to get awkward, it's time to go," Dave says, holding out a hand, "C'mon, Jasmine.  Don't you trust me?"

            Sollux glares, but Nepeta and Gamzee stare at him with such intensity that, with some reluctance, Sollux climbs out of his chair.  He doesn't take Dave's hand, but that's okay.  He still follows him to the exit, which is all he really needs.

            The bar air, hot and thick with body sweat, is so sharply contrasted by the cool air outside that it feels like winter for a moment.  Sollux shudders as Dave asks the bouncer about cabs, then scowls silently when Dave wanders back to his side, digging a cigarette out of his pocket.

            They don't talk.  Dave wonders if Sollux just wants to go home and say fuck it to this whole stupid situation.  He can't really blame him for that.  It's a really stupid situation, and holy shit, he'd just made an ass out of himself on stage in the most uncool way possible.  Yeah, he should tell Sollux to get the hell out of here and save them both the embarrassment.

            "So, your place, huh?" Sollux says, snapping out the words as though they would wound him if he didn't.  He actually sounds kind of vicious.  "You aren't pulling any punches here.  Expecting something?"

            "Yep," Dave drawls.  "For you to get my computer fixed."  He takes a long drag and exhales slow, side-eyeing Sollux from behind his shades.  "I'm just interested in chilling with you more than anyone else.  No tricks here."  The moment the words come out of his mouth, Dave is regretting them - they aren't flippant and cool and he is _way_ too drunk for this.

            Sollux hesitates a moment.  Then, almost reluctantly, he asks, "Why?"

            "No idea," Dave says, shrugging.  "You're not bad, as far as dudes I can chill with.  You're kind of a jackass, but who isn't?"

            "Fuck you, you hardly even know me.  How do you know what I'm like?"

            "Then maybe I want to hang with you so I can be informed or some shit."  
            Sollux falls silent and stays that way until the taxi comes.  He's the first to get in, slouching back into his seat and putting his cheek against the window.

            "Where to?" the cabby asks as Dave climbs in.  Dave looks at Sollux.

            "I can drop you off, if you want," he says.  Even though he wants to just shove his fist in his mouth for acting like a complete nerd.

            Sollux shrugs, his arm brushing against Dave's in the movement, and so Dave goes ahead and gives his own address.  Sollux doesn't correct him, so that's probably the right move.

            The trip is mostly silent, which is really disconcerting because Dave had thought he'd been doing pretty fucking good up until this.  Had the song really fucked him up that bad?  The diet conversation?  Commenting about Karkat?  What had happened?  He can't figure it out.

            A few blocks from the apartment, though, Sollux inhales next to him, quietly.  The radio is playing country and the taxi drivers are chattering away on the receiver.  Sollux's hand brushes right against Dave's, pinky fingers sliding side by side and thank _God_ he's wearing his glasses, because there's no way he'd be able to hide the expression on his face otherwise.

            He doesn't grab Sollux's hand or anything like that.  He just rubs his pinky against Sollux's, listening to the way his breath hitches before he exhales, slow and shaky and nostalgically hollow.

            Dave doesn't look at him.  He just nods his head to the music in the background and leans his head against the window, watching buildings slip by and feeling Sollux's hand next to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know the song Dave sang, it's [Heartbreaker](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8cbak34DR0) by Karmin and it's pretty terrible. Dave, of course, knows all the lyrics and probably dances to it in his bathroom like a total loser.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose has dinner with her darling professor, and Karkat unsurprisingly hates everything in this entire ugly goddamn universe.

            Rose knows how to cook precious little.  Thankfully, chicken piccata is one of the dishes she feels she excels in making.  It also helps that Scratch's kitchen is well stocked with all the equipment needed to make far more complicated dishes; it makes something easy like this that much more manageable.

            The illusion of domesticity is one she only occasionally indulges in, and while she knows Scratch appreciates it, she also knows that he is as comfortable about their actual relationship as she is.  There's no real need to be the housewife.  After all, if that was what he wanted, he would have married long ago.

            The news is on in the other room, where Scratch is going over the final one more time to check for errors and clarity.  She doesn't need to see it, and she doesn't try to cheat the answers out of him.  She's studied enough.  She knows the material better than she knows the professor she's cooking for.

            She can hear the announcers going over so much useless news, and it begins to blur together after a while.  It's shut off as she begins setting the sauce, and when he comes into the kitchen, she's putting the chicken back in the pan.  "Making progress, I see," he says, sounding fond but also amused, as though the idea of a co-ed cooking for him still holds some kind of bemusement in it.  "Thank you for this, by the way."

            "It's the least I can do."  She tilts her head away from his as he leans over her shoulder, breathing in the smell of their dinner before kissing the curve of her neck briefly.  "I believe a night in will do both of us good.  After all, how else am I to seduce the final out of your study?"

            "I think it might be more difficult now that you've told me your intentions," he says, laughing quietly against her skin as they watch the pan simmer.

            "I _do_ prefer a challenge."

            With a light bump of her hip, she manages to move him back enough so that she can get the last of the butter.  He uses that time to find some plates, setting them near the range before going to set the table.  It's a little bit of a shame to know that he never wants to marry, but it's not surprising.  Besides, that's not exactly Rose's style, either.

            And it won't matter for much longer, though she tries not to think about that.

            Dinner topics between them generally include school-related gossip and ironically-pretentious discussions about philosophy and psychology, usually all happening at the same time.  Tonight's conversation doesn't seem to stretch much farther than usual.  They talk about the A-paper student and the notes they see passed between students; they touch briefly on the moral ambiguity of curving grades; Rose even debates the pros and cons of corporeal punishment in the classroom, and how much more efficient some students would be if the threat of being set upon by wild dogs were hanging over their head.  Scratch is generally against the idea, though he does suggest that it would help keep shelters in business.

            They don't talk about their relationship or the end it's reaching - they don't talk about the future at all.  It's not polite dinner conversation.

            The only indication that this night is different from normal is the fact that before Rose can pick up her dish to take it to the sink, Scratch takes her hand from across the table, looking at her long and soft while saying, "Leave the dishes for tomorrow."

            There's a quiet desperation in his voice, one put off throughout dinner but finally breaking free, and Rose can't say no to it.  She would never be able to - it would be a crime, something worse than death in her future if she let him go with that sort of look and that sort of voice.  So she smiles and nods, rising out of her seat, pulling him with her, thinking about the future and the moment she's living simultaneously.  When he steps close and embraces her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his cheek to her temple, she can feel that everything going through her mind is going through his as well, and it's clearly more than he can bear.

            "There will always be breaks," she says softly.

            "Yes," he agrees, but doesn't pull away.

            She kisses him and thinks for a moment that she could fail a class so easily, be forced into another semester - and she knows immediately that those thoughts are dangerous.  They're the kinds of thoughts he'd warned her about from the start, half-joking with dyed hair to hide the grey and no contractions to be heard.  She banishes them easily enough.  They're only pipe dreams.

            They stand near the dining table for a while, swaying to unheard music, and then she makes the mistake of saying, "I'll only be able to stay tonight."  He presses his lips to hers again and now there's a heat there, a slow-burning intensity that never fails to make her toes curl.

            "You could stay longer," he says.

            "And fail my finals?  I think not."

            He brushes her hair back from her face.  "You know exactly what I meant, and that was hardly it."

            "Ask me to bed instead," she replies, finding his hand again and pulling at him gently.  "Don't ask me to stay anymore."

            He nods, though she knows he'll break that silent promise soon enough, and follows her willingly past the study and to his bedroom.  It's all dark wood, green sheets on the bed and pictures on the dresser that she never asks about - pictures of men and women he used to know, or maybe still knows.  She can't find time to care, because his hands are in her hair and his mouth is hot on hers, desperate and uncontrolled and _if only people saw him like this_.

            She wonders what he'd be, if he weren't a professor.  Something much darker, she supposes.  Runs in the family.

            "Stop.  _Thinking_ ," he says against her neck, punctuating the breath between words with a soft bite.  She digs her nails into his hip.

            "That will never happen," she replies, helpfully stepping back to bring them to the bed.  He shifts and adjusts as she pulls herself up onto the mattress, her hand finding the collar of his shirt and pulling him forward, thumb pushing his chin up so that she can kiss him, pulling his lower lip between her teeth, twisting her hands behind her back so that she can pull the zipper of her dress down.

            There's no time lost between them; she unbuttons his shirt and he pulls her dress off her shoulders, unhooking her bra as she undoes his belt.  She relishes in the soft skin of his stomach, the faintest traces of what once was an impressively athletic physique showing under years of relative inactivity, still attractive but in such a different way.  He makes little noises of appreciation in the back of his throat, ones she responds to with hums and sighs, and he uses his mouth to worship more of her body than she can physically stand.

            If she could critique any one thing of him, it would be that he's sometimes _too_ thorough.  Thorough enough to drive her crazy.

            They stop short of the actual act; for their own reasons, neither of them are willing to be the first to push past the crudely-named third base.  Rose wishes she could find the courage or the energy, but his thoroughness and her reciprocation don't lend for that sort of thing right now.  And that's fine.  His skin is warm and he is very skilled with those beautifully adroit hands, and she likes to think she gives nearly as good as she gets.

            He refuses to fall asleep afterward, unlike her; she drifts lazily, her dress a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed that she kicks off along with the comforter, leaving them with only the sheet.  That's plenty for this heat.

            "There will always be breaks," he says, echoing her words from an hour before.

            "Mm," she says, nodding her head against his collarbone and threading her fingers through his graying hair, "Always."

***

            Karkat wakes up with a pounding headache, a dry mouth and a massive urge to go back to sleep until he dies.  There'd be nothing better than to just roll over and pass back out - except he can't.  Because his too-small bed is being too-occupied by someone else, passed out and hogging about eighty percent of the space and more than half the pillows.

            Wait.

            What.

            Karkat struggles to shoot up in shock and surprise, but his head hurts too much, so he settles for groggily pushing himself up on his elbows.  He can't remember what the fuck happened last night.  Other than... really bad singing.  Oh, fucking shit, did he sing?  If Sollux let him sing in front of people -

            No, no, he doesn't remember feeling deeply ashamed.  He just feels kind of gross.

            The person next to him shifts.  Karkat looks over and tries to find the energy to be horrified by the fact that his bedfellow isn't, in fact, an attractive woman.  He's a scrawny, kind of weasel-faced man with splotchy hickies across his shoulder and wow no he is definitely naked, so Karkat just closes his eyes and throws his hands over his face as added protection.  Unfortunately, morbid curiosity draws his gaze back.

            Karkat is too hung-over to really flip his shit over this new development.  When he’s gotten a few Advil in him and has drunk enough water to drown a dolphin, maybe _then_ he’ll look back on the dim-lit haze of last night and have a severe mental breakdown over the fact that every one of his friends had seen him leave the club with some dude dressed in a short skirt and fishnets.

            Fishnets that are now tangled up in his pants.  Shit.

            Yeah, okay.  Later, he’ll flip his shit and have a crisis and all that, but right now all he can do is stare at the too-thin, too-pale guy curled in a question mark around one of his pillows.  He tilts his head and sees that it’s not too surprising he made the mistake.  He stares just a little longer.

            Advil, then water, then sobbing in a shower rocking back and forth.  That sounds about right.

            He's just about to get started on his laundry list of self-reproach when he feels a phone vibrating somewhere near the foot of the bed.  With a muttered string of increasingly incoherent curses, Karkat digs his phone out from under the sheets and holds it to his ear.  When he says, " _What_ ," he realizes that there's a phone charm on his phone that hadn't been there before.

            Oh shit.

            " _Excuse_ me?  Eridan Clarence Ampora, don't use that tone of voice with me, it's been _three days_ -"

            Karkat waves a hand in the air before realizing that the woman shouting at him across the line has no way of seeing it.  "Whoa, fucking stop for five seconds, this isn't... that guy."  Clarence?  No, that was the middle name.  Eridan.  Shit, he doesn't even remember the name of the guy he slept with.  Great.  
            There's a pause.  Then, " _What_?  Then who is this, and why are you answering Eridan's phone?"

            "Uh.  I thought it was mine."  Karkat tries to lower his voice when that question mark of a man next to him curls tighter, carefully sliding out of bed to hunt down some clothes that didn't stink of the alcohol and desperation that led him to this point.

            "Oh."  The woman takes on a suddenly nervous tone and says, "Right, okay.  Is Eridan around?"

            Karkat winces as he knocks his foot into the bedpost and hisses, "He's sleeping," before he has a chance to come up with an actual lie.  Like, he accidentally picked up Eridan's phone, or something.

            "Oh."  Another pause.  "Okay."  There's a laugh from the other side of the line - one of those frazzled, so-fucking-done kind of laughs that comes with dealing with a situation for too long, and she says, "At least he sleeps now."

            "You want me to wake him up?"  _Hah_ , clean underwear, fucking finally.  Karkat grabs at the Batman boxers lying near the bedroom door, pulling them on only to realize that they're a little too small.  Gamzee is a piece of shit at sorting laundry, and Karkat's even worse at remembering what kind of boxers he even has on hand at any one point in time.

            "No, I - he needs to sleep.  Um...  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you!  It's just that Eridan's been gone for a few days, and his phone's been dead for most of them, so - never mind, just.  Um, when he wakes up - tell him Feferi called him.  And that it's really important, and that if he doesn't call me back I am going to _kill him!_ "

            The sudden shift in pitch makes Karkat see spots, bringing a hand up to his face again.  "Fuck, don't yell, Christ!"

            "Sorry!  It's just _really important_ , okay?  Please, please, _please_ tell him I called and that he needs to call me back."

            Karkat looks over to the bed.  Eridan hasn't moved.  "Yeah," he sighs, "Sure, fine.  I'll do that."

            "Okay.  Thank you."  He almost hangs up when she stops him with another question.  "...How is he?"

            Shit.  The last thing Karkat wants to do is admit to a one night stand, especially considering the person he's talking to might be a... well, who knows, a girlfriend or something.  But he's not sure how else to answer.  "I don't know.  I haven't known him for... uh, very long."

            "Okay."  She doesn't sound surprised.  Karkat's not sure how to take that.  "Thanks anyway."

            He hangs up before she can say anything else to make him feel like even more of a piece of shit, then tosses the phone - Eridan's phone, the same model as his, identical save for the tiny, squiggly-lined charm hanging off of it - onto the bed again.  He almost doesn't see Eridan shift, but the movement catches the corner of his eye and when he looks, he can see that Eridan's visible eye is open underneath purple hair.

            "Oh."

            "Sorry," Eridan mumbles, sounding like he's going through Karkat's own favorite mixture of miserable, embarrassed hangover torture.  He doesn't move beyond a few slow blinks.

            "Uh, it's... fine, whatever, fucking don't even worry about it."  Karkat's never had to deal with a one-night stand before, and he's pretty sure after this, he's never going to so much as allow himself to consider it ever again.  He's going to become a spinster.  Fuck it, he is going to be the ugliest, oldest spinster on the fucking block.  In the entire world.

            He finds Gamzee's purple hoodie hanging over the back of his computer chair and pulls it on, completing the I-wear-my-roommate's-clothes-platonically ensemble with about as much shame as he can afford it, given how much shame he's putting into this other situation of his.  Eridan finally shifts, grabbing the sheets by his knees and pulling them up over his hips as he sits up, rubbing at his eyes.  Karkat notices a pair of glasses on the bedside table, but he doesn't touch them.

            "Shit.  I'm gonna fuckin' die here, this is the worst fuckin' hangover I've ever had."  Even as he speaks, he's moving, reaching over to pick up the wayfarers on the side table.  "I could've done without the extra three fuckin' drinks."

            "Yeah," Karkat says, because what the fuck else can he say?

            The thickness of Eridan's glasses leave his eyes slightly magnified, and with the purple streak in his hair and the way most of it's hanging in his face, he looks like a fucking scene kid.  This is more awful than he could have ever anticipated.  Eridan runs a hand through his hair and looks at Karkat for a long moment, before dropping his eyes to the floor.

            "Uh.  So..."

            Karkat echoes the word under his breath.

            "...You don't remember shit from last night, do you?  Like, anythin' at all."

            Shaking his head, Karkat makes his slow way back to his bed, sitting down on the side opposite Eridan.  He doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know that Eridan's rummaging around for his clothes.

            "Okay, well, _basically_."  Eridan's voice carries the tone of someone who's used to doing this - someone who isn't happy about it, but is used to it nonetheless.  "I bought you a drink, we talked about the fact that flip phones are _highly fuckin' underrated_ in today's smart-phone universe, you got royally fuckin' pissed off about the La Quinta I've been stayin' in an' drove me back here."

            "I drove?" Karkat asks, unable to keep the muffled horror out of his voice.  He'd been even fucking stupider than usual.  He should be dead.  They probably are dead, and this is hell.  Holy shit.

            "Yeah, that was probably not our best fuckin' plan, but there it is.  Anyway.  We hung out, did some shit an' passed out."  Karkat doesn't need to ask to know what "some shit" constitutes as.  "So, yeah.  There's your night for you."

            Karkat buries his face in his hands, hunching over in the hopes that he can maybe roll into himself and disappear from life itself.  One thing's for sure - he's _never_ going out again.  Ever.

            The bed shifts, and it's only because of the hoodie that Karkat doesn't jerk away when Eridan puts a hand on his back.  "You okay?"

            " _No_ ," Karkat groans, "No, I'm not _okay_.  I got way too drunk and no _fucking offense_ but I slept with a dude and that's not my fucking style in the slightest, not to mention something I've _ever done_ ever and oh my God we're in my house my roommate is going to be _so fucking weird_ and _all my friends_ saw me and-"

            "Whoa, holy shit, calm the fuck down."  Eridan shifts more, and Karkat can feel his knee bumping into his hip.  He really hopes Eridan's got some fucking underwear on, or something.  "You've gotta be too fuckin' hungover to have a panic attack."

            " _Just watch me_."

            "Look, uh... Shit, Karkit, right?"

            "Kar _kat_."

            "Yeah, whatever.  Anyway, look, as far as I remember, you don't have anythin' to fuckin' freak out about.  You weren't the one who went home with a stranger in a foreign fuckin' city, an' besides, for a first time, you were pretty fuckin' good, so chill the fuck out."

            Karkat doesn't want that half-assed consolation to soothe him, but it's hard not to be at least a little placated by the honest facts.  He'd been right to kick up a fuss about the La Quinta, too, because they're notorious for not changing sheets and letting flies spawn in the soda machines.  Here, at least, he knows when the sheets are clean.

            "We good?" Eridan asks.  Karkat nods, uncoiling a little as Eridan slides back across the bed.  "Good.  I hate havin' to talk people down after they get a lil' carried away one night.  Don't even fuckin' worry about it."

            Karkat finally cranes his neck to look over at Eridan, who's wearing his tee-shirt and a pair of silky women's underwear.  They're purple.  Jesus _Christ_.

            "Goddamn it," Eridan's muttering, "This is why I pick my place."  He raises his voice and asks, "You mind if I borrow a pair'a sweats or somethin'?  Skirts are kind'a a one trick pony."

            "Uh."  Karkat fumbles for a second, then sighs and says, "Sure, whatever."

            "I don't usually ask," Eridan says, "But, uh."  He turns his head, sees Karkat staring at him and frowns, "Zipper's broke."

            Karkat is quick as fuck to get a pair of sweatpantss from under the corner of his bed, tossing them back to Eridan and turning his head away again.  The mattress tilts as Eridan stands up.  "I'll get them back to you quicklike, don't worry about that."

            "Doesn't matter."

            He hears the drawstring slide through fabric and winces - it's not often that he gets overly self-conscious about his weight, but Eridan's scrawny and his pants must be hanging off him.

            "So, I'll get a hold of a cab and get outta here.  I don't hear anyone else wanderin' around, so you're probably okay as far as walks of shame go."

            "Gamzee's always fucking quiet," Karkat mumbles.  He looks at Eridan, who's got his phone in hand, and then he opens his mouth and lets more stupidity out.  "I can drive you."

            "You think you can handle not havin' a panic attack on the way there?"

            "Shut the fuck up, of course I can."  With a grumble, Karkat pushes him to find his jeans, which means spending almost half a minute unwinding fishnet from denim.  "It's not even a big deal.  Just totally had my first time with a guy that I don't even know, whatever."

            "Wow, that's _super_ not passive aggressive," Eridan snipes.

            "I can be as passive aggressive as I want, it's my colossal screw-up."

            "Whatever.  Think you can passive aggressively get me some fuckin' aspirin or somethin'?  Because I might expire before we reach the hotel if I don't get some kinda relief."

            "Just watch how passive aggressive I can get over mundane fucking tasks."

            As Karkat finally manages the strength of will to get up, he turns to see Eridan staring at his phone with a pinched expression on his face.  He's clearly a multitasker, because as he tabs through his phone, he keeps up the conversation without a glance.  "I have so much faith in you right now, Kar, seriously.  If you get really sarcastic about it, maybe I'll spot you for some fuckin' breakfast down at the nearest establishment that won't make me puke within ten minutes."

            "How generous," Karkat gripes, "And it's Kar _kat_."

            "Yeah, it is."  He stares at Eridan until he looks up, raising an eyebrow, his frown deepening.  "What's your point?"

            "Say the whole fucking thing," Karkat snaps, before realizing that sometimes Sollux is right, and sometimes he comes off meaner than he intends to.  That sounded harsh, even to him, and he really needs to not be a colossal dick to the guy he slept with.  Especially over shit like nicknames.

            Eridan just squishes his mouth up a little on one side, then looks back at his phone with a shrug.  "Whatever you say, Kar."

            "Wow, you don't listen to a fucking thing anyone says, do you, _Clarence_?"

            Eridan's shoulders hunch, a humiliated blush almost instantly spreading across his cheeks.  He rolls his eyes, glares at his phone and says, "A'course, you can't hardly remember my _real_ name, but you got a fuckin' lock on that one tarnished speck on my entire glowin' goddamn record as a human being.  Get me my fuckin' aspirin an' then, for the love'a god, get me the fuck away from you."

            He's brusque and irritable and more than a little pissed, but Karkat knows that tone and posture too well to take it at face value.  After all, that's how he responds to half of the jabs thrown his way.  So instead of getting irritated all over again, he allows himself to feel kind of relieved that, at the very least, he picked a douchebag like him to come home with.

            Not that he wants him to stick around, or anything.  He'd just really rather focus on how much worse this situation could've been, instead of looking at how bad it already is.  Douchebag scene kids who don't give a shit about him?  That's definitely better than winding up with a nut job and waking up without a kidney.

            "Any time in the next million years, Kar.  I'm not gettin' any prettier."

            Okay, well.  _Probably_ better.

***

            Rose wakes up to a warm embrace and an even warmer room; from the way the sunlight comes through the slatted blinds, she guesses that it must be at least nine or ten in the morning.  A little later than she usually sleeps, but not by much, and so she lets it slide with a yawn and a slow, slightly-impeded stretch.  Behind her, Scratch grunts in his sleep, his fingers lacing across her stomach before going lax again.

            She considers her options for a few minutes before easily disentangling herself from him, sliding out of bed and stretching her arms above her head once she's standing.  She lets out a long yawn before going to his bathroom, reaching behind the door to grab his robe; she'd considered walking around naked before, but it always felt a little too inappropriate, especially given what they've been doing.  Besides, she wants to cook some breakfast, and the _last_ thing she needs to do is accidentally burn herself somewhere with accidental oil pops.

            The dishes are still on the table.  She puts them in the sink for later, then pulls the pan she'd rinsed from last night out of the dishrack, rinsing it again with hot, soapy water before deeming it clean enough for a second use.  It's only when she starts looking for food that Rose realizes she's not sure what she wants.

            She spies some eggs, still within date, and a distant correlation in her mind makes her think, _there will always be breaks_.  She can't help but smile a little at that, even if it's not that funny, and she takes out the carton, as well as cheese, pre-cut bell peppers, a ziploc of sliced mushrooms and even a package of breakfast sausages.  Might as well.

            She cooks in relative silence, save for the sound of cars passing by on the street and oil popping and a few thoughtless notes of a tune that she hums as she gets her eggs ready to crack.

            The floorboards creak in the bedroom, accompanied by sleepy groans and the audible sound of a back cracking.  Rose tosses the bell peppers and mushrooms into the pan with the sloppily diced sausage, then goes to one of the upper cabinets, reaching in to retrieve the electric kettle.  As she fills it with water, she tries not to think about how she knows where most of these things are.  She can't help but think about it, though; just like she can't help but wonder if she'll move things around in her apartment back home so that they reflect Scratch's arrangements.  Oh, but he would _love_ to see that, wouldn't he?

            "Breakfast?" the devil himself asks as he enters the kitchen, dressed in an undershirt and a pair of pajama pants that Rose has grown quite fond of.

            "Stating the obvious, I see," she teases, glancing at him with a smile.  "At least we've bypassed monosyllabic responses."

            "Mm."  He grins at her, and she's honestly a little shocked by how sincere it is, and how severely it youthens his face.  She has never seen him smile like that before, and it draws a childish grin of her own as he settles at the table and checks his phone for messages.

            She frowns thoughtfully as she separates the eggs into two portions, staring at it and wondering when she'd decided to make enough for the both of them.  It had been instinctual, like reaching for the kettle, and she's suddenly sorry to see it.  How many meals will she make two helpings of back home?

            At least she'll always have leftovers.

            The kettle is spouting steam when she shuts it off, pouring out two cups of hot water and adding teabags without needing to ask him what kind of tea he might want.  It's all so comfortable and worn in.

            "I think that you should come with me," she says before she can stop herself.  He looks at her in confusion and she blushes hotly.  Still, she refuses to take it back.  "When I go home.  Come with me.  For a week or two, before summer semester begins.  You have no other plans, and it would do us both good."

            She places the two cups of tea on the table and then turns quickly to get the plates, using food as an excuse to hide her embarrassment at the childish notion.  He has plenty of things to do before summer semester starts, and she's learned that he won't even take sick days unless he's under duress.

            "That's an excellent idea."

            Letting go of a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Rose picks up the plates and turns to face him.  "Do you think?"

            When he smiles, it's with an obvious awareness at how hard that had been for her to suggest in the first place.  "Yes, I do.  But you realize that, if I were to join you in your hometown, there would be talk."

            "I'll have graduated.  Besides, it's not as if anyone would think we had been together during the school year."  She sets the plates down, then settles into her seat across from him.  Her foot brushes against his calf.  "We are far too noble and good for those kinds of shenanigans."

            He chuckles and picks up the little thing of sugar that sits in the center of the table.  "Very true.  But the school is not what I was talking about.  I meant your friends - your brothers, as well.  Are you so sure that you want to deal with _that_ sort of talk?"

            Rose smiles and shrugs.  "They always gossip.  Besides, I may have been, on occasion, tipsy enough to let loose the implication that I might be seeing someone of authority and exceptional age."

            "Yet another quip regarding my age.  Ms. Lalonde, I hope that isn't the focal point of our relationship to you."

            "You've caught me," she says, laughing a little as she spears a slice of mushroom with her fork.  "I have an unstoppable fetish for older gentlemen.  I can't just resist them."

            He ducks his head, his shoulders hunching slightly with the move, and it's looks peculiarly adorable.  It's yet another starkly _young_ gesture, like the grin, and she thinks they look rather nice on him.

            "I'll have to use that to my advantage," he says, his voice laced with amusement.  When he glances up at her, head still tilted downwards, Rose feels a strange fluttering just below her ribcage.  It's a feeling she isn't prepared to analyze, despite the fact that it's quite obvious as it stands.  There's no research required to know what it means.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee and Jade drive Nepeta home, Sollux flip-flops for Dave and Equius's check engine light comes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY this chapter is probably not as smooth as it could be. i've looked over it a few times, but i just can't get myself to edit any more, so we'll just roll with it and hope the next chapter will be more interesting. and it will be, i promise. :)

            It's eleven-thirty in the morning when Gamzee finally manages to pull himself up and out of that sleepy, brain-addled place his mind had wandered off to sometime around two in the morning.  The bed below him creaks as he shifts, rocking his hips to unstick his skin from the laminated plastic fabric of the mattress, and he can feel the cool concrete on his back as he shifts around.  It takes a few long, hazy moments before he manages to blink his eyes into focus, roving over the bare white walls before settling on the girly with her face mostly buried into his shoulder.  She's got her glasses on all askew, one corner digging into his collarbone, but he doesn't mind all that much.  He realizes he's still got his underwear on, which is probably a good thing because he's _pretty sure_ there'd been someone else with them when they'd gotten back from the bar.

            There's another bed across the room, now that he looks, and there's a girl curled up tight on there too, which means yeah, there'd been another person.  Gamzee takes stock of the fact that he can taste paint in his mouth and that his face is probably all sorts of jacked up, but it doesn't matter much.  Jade's got a smear of black across her forehead, which is cute as hell.

            He smiles.

            "Hey," he murmurs, careful not to freak her out - not that it freaked her out the last time she woke up in bed with him, which had been kind of weird but also nice.  He's not really used to that.  Besides, she's got no shirt on and no bra to speak of, so if Nepeta has issues with naked people, he doesn't want to accidentally wake her up and get her flipping out too.  "Hey, girl, time to rise and motherfucking shine."

            Jade grumbles and snorts, then kicks him a little as she flips over onto her other side.  It's endearing how little she cares about pretty much anything, but they've got to get up and probably get Nepeta back home before her dad flips out, which he's pretty sure isn't a hard thing to trigger.  He's seen the type before - except her dad has this vibe, this sad feeling that's all over him like a cloud.  Or chains.  Chains are better, because they weigh you down but you can shrug them off if you really try.  Can't do the same with clouds - they just follow your shit everywhere you go.

            "Sister, we gotta be getting up now," he tries again, gently pushing at her shoulder, rocking her back and forth until she finally groans out his name, exasperated.

            "It's like six in the morning," she mumbles.

            "Nah, it's more like noonish, being with the sun high in the sky and the clouds all gone."  To his surprise, Jade immediately shoots up, swearing under her breath as she grabs for her cell phone.  She lets out a sigh of relief once she checks it, falling back into the mattress.

            "Oh, boy, I almost thought it was Monday and I was going to miss my final," she says, "Jeeze.  Nearly had a heart attack."

            "Sorry."

            She smiles broadly at him and shrugs.  "Not your fault!  Morning, anyway.  Where's Nepeta?"  He nods in the direction of the bed and Jade follows his gaze, watching her back for a few seconds.  "You didn't think she'd stay in bed with us, did you?"

            Gamzee tries to remember ever propositioning both of them together, but he can't draw that memory up.  "Did I try putting moves on her?" he asks, not meaning to sound so conflicted.  He's too tired and too sober to really try for lazy peace.

            "Oh my god, no!  I mean, you were all about us having a cuddle pile, but I guess it really was too small for all of us in the end.  She looks comfortable, though, so that's good!  ...But, we should probably take her home."

            Jade reaches over the edge of the bed and digs up a zip-up vest, pulling it on as she slides out of bed.  She quickly changes out of the boxers she'd been sleeping in, putting on a pair of shorts.  Gamzee watches her as she moves, finding himself pretty fucking taken with the whole thing.  She's confident and at ease and goddamn, he's lucky to have found a chick that cool.  Not that he expects this to be anything more than friends who like physical intimacy - he's not naive in the slightest about shit like this.

            "Her dad's gonna be ten shades of pissed," he says quietly, still reluctant to wake that kitty-cat of a girl still sleeping.  She makes a noncommittal sound and adjusts her glasses.  "Still, she doesn't have anything to be motherfucking doing up in this particular time period, so he can't get too upset on her blowing off a lil' motherfucking steam."

            "Yeah, probably," Jade says, grinning over her shoulder before moving across the room to the other bed.  Gamzee pulls himself out from under the cheap airline-quality blanket and uses his feet to pull his pants up onto the bed beside him, then slides into them without thinking twice about how big they are him.  He thinks they might be Karkat's, but Gamzee's got enough mass to make it not a big deal.  He finds his shirt as Jade shakes Nepeta awake, less gently than Gamzee would have, but not roughly in the slightest.  "Hey, Nep, it's time to get up, we gotta take you home!"

            Nepeta makes this adorable kind of growling noise, then stretches out, arms over her head and toes pointing down.  "Oh, no," she mumbles, "It's really late, huh?"

            "Almost noon," Jade says with some sympathy, "But you don't have a final today, so it's okay!"

            Groaning a little as she sits up, Nepeta rubs at her eyes and stares blearily from Jade to Gamzee and then back again.  Her makeup's smudged, giving her little raccoon eyes, and her clothes look definitely slept in.  "Yeah, I guess so..."  She gives them a reassuring smile, one that doesn't seem to really do the job, but Gamzee accepts it as it is.  He does a quick visual sweep of the room, just in case he brought more than he'd remembered, but nothing strikes him as familiar.  Jade grabs the keys to John's car from the empty desk, then ushers the two of them out of her dorm room, locking the door behind them before leading them down the stairs.

            There are a few people in the common area of the dormitory, and they stare at Gamzee as he walks by.  He doesn't mind - he's used to it.  The makeup always throws people off.  He hears one of them say "juggalo," but he shrugs that shit off just as easily - it's not like he's being discreet about that shit, after all.

            Nepeta sits in the back seat, her fingers kneading the denim of her jeans.  Gamzee doesn't know what to say to reassure her that everything's going to be cool, so he just smiles at her over the headrest, letting Jade take care of the technical shit like driving and operating the radio and all that.  He doesn't even try adjusting the seat, settling instead for bending and squishing until he's contorted himself into the space provided.

            "Thanks for taking me with you," Nepeta says once they pull out of the college parking lot.  "I had a lot of fun!"

            "It was nice having you with us," Jade says, beaming into the rear-view mirror.  "You can definitely hang out with us any time!  I live an hour and a half outside of the city, but I'm gonna be looking for an apartment with John so we can move back here, and then we can party all the time."

            "That sounds pretty awesome!"  Nepeta grins and tilts her head a little, and Gamzee figures he'd been right to introduce the two of them.  They fit together pretty motherfucking nicely, if he's got to be honest.

            The world passes by in a sleepy blur outside the window, the music from the radio the only thing Gamzee can really tune in on.  Nepeta and Jade are still talking, but he's pretty sure it's about that Strider guy, not so much about anything Gamzee needs to listen to, so he ignores it, content just to know that they're near him.

            They reach Nepeta's place in what feels like no time at all, and the back seat is suddenly quiet.  Jade pulls up alongside the curb, stopping in front of a two-story house in one of the older suburbs in town.  Nepeta's quick to get out, hesitating a moment when Gamzee rolls down the window before leaning in and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

            "Thanks again," she says.  Gamzee doesn't know what to do, but he goes with it, lifting up a hand and patting her on the head.

            "No problem, sister.  You be getting all your learning locked up tightlike, okay?  Pass that motherfucking test of yours so you're not all stuck repeating any grades."

            She laughs and pulls back, nodding vigorously.  "Yeah, you got it!  I'll text you guys later, okay?"

            "Sure!" Jade says, laughing and waving as Nepeta bounds off towards the front door.  As she pulls away from the curb, Gamzee watches Nepeta open the door.  Nobody greets her, which is probably a good thing.  He figures that a single dad would probably be working most of the time, anyway.

            Jade explains her plans with John as they drive, and Gamzee lets her know that he'll keep an eye out for places renting in the next few months.  He likes the idea that Jade is going to be sticking around town - most of the people he's met from the college leave after they graduate, and while he doesn't expect anyone to stay, it's nice to know that some people just like it here.

            When they pull up in front of Gamzee's apartment, Karkat's car is missing from the garage.  It's not unusual for him to get out pretty early, but Gamzee can't help but worry a little.  After all, his brother had been pretty messed up when he'd left.  He hadn't been paying enough attention to stop him, though.  Hopefully, he's just gone to do something, and made it home last night.

            "I had fun," Jade says, a repeat of her earlier comments to Nepeta but with more feeling behind them.

            Gamzee grins and nods.  "Yeah, sister, that shit was fucking divine.  I'm all about having a good time, and that was about as good a time can be getting without something getting all twisted wrongways around."

            Jade laughs and pats him on the shoulder.  "Go grab a shower and get some food.  I have a dorm meeting to get to in... ugh, like twenty minutes, so I'm gonna be busy.  But maybe later we can hang out some more!"

            "Yeah, sure," he says, grinning and nodding without thinking about undoing his seatbelt.  He remembers it after a few seconds of silence, clambering out of the car and shaking his left leg out to get some of the pins and needles gone.

            "Text me when you know that Karkat didn't end up getting arrested for driving drunk, okay?"

            "Yeah," he repeats, waving at her as she pulls from the curb and pulls a K-turn out to get back the way she came.  Even when she's long out of sight, he continues to stare up the road.  It's only when his phone goes off with a text from Karkat that he gives up watching and heads back into his house.

***

            Sollux wakes up with a crick in his neck and a mild hangover, lying haphazardly on a fold-flat futon that smells like pizza and, for some reason, apples.  He's only disoriented for a few seconds before he remembers that he'd crashed out on Dave's couch; the television is still on with Mario Kart paused on the screen.  He'd been winning, damn it.

            The apartment is quiet, and when he sits up, he sees a post-it stuck to the corner of the television that he's sure wasn't there the night before.  It says, simply, _brb breakfast - ds_ , and Sollux takes that to mean that he's alone in the apartment for the time-being.  He checks his phone, swearing when he sees that it's already twelve-thirty, but a quick check of his calendar relieves him of the worry that he's obscenely late for work; no need to worry when you're not scheduled, right?

            Since his throat and mouth feel like they're stuffed with cotton, he gets up to find the bathroom and get some water in him.  Stretching his arms across his chest as he wanders, he first finds Dave's bedroom - a door he shuts as quickly as he had opened it, only glancing enough to spy a bed - and then the bathroom, which is small and windowless.  The shower curtain is covered in a bunch of cartoonish, multicolored fish, and there are a few shallow trays stacked on the back of the toilet, a couple of tongs resting in the topmost one.  Sollux forcibly ignores it, though he can't say his interest isn't piqued, and instead uses the bathroom for its actual purpose.  Which isn't snooping, damn it.

            After he downs what feels like a gallon of water, though, he's kind of at a loss.  He can't help but wander back to the living room and take actual stock of the apartment itself, left to his own devices without anything to entertain him.  It's cluttered, but other than a few empty fast-food bags, there isn't any actual garbage lying around.  There are a few bookshelves pushed together along one wall, stuffed with DVDs, video games and musical odds and ends that Sollux really doesn't know shit about; resting on top of the bookshelves are a few decorative swords, all looking like they were bought off of QVC in a moment of weakness.  There's also something that looks like a mixing station for DJing, but a lot smaller than the stuff Sollux has seen at clubs, so he's not really sure.

            Other than a few posters for bands that Sollux has never heard of, the decor is mostly made up of framed photography, both grayscale and color.  One of the pictures features Jade, which surprises him.  She's posing with obvious ironic exaggeration, wearing a bikini top and sitting on the prow of a shored rowboat.  Sollux realizes that these are probably Dave's actual photography, not just store-bought pieces in an attempt to class up the place.

  1. There's nothing in there for him to see, other than probably more shitty swords and photography, and if Dave came back while he was snooping, he'd probably be a complete ass about it.



            So instead, Sollux plops himself down on the futon, pulling the back up into a more normal position, and switches the Wii over to Netflix.  The recently watched list contains mostly cheesy cartoons, along with _Breaking Bad_ and _X-Files_.  Sollux tabs through to the first episode of _Jem,_ settling in to watch some good, old-fashioned eighties cartoons.

            Dave gets back right around the start of the second episode, bringing with him two bags of Taco Bell and a large drink.  From the sound of his slurping, it's almost empty.  "Good show," he says as he kicks the door shut.  "Truly outrageous."

            Wandering over to the futon, Dave tosses one of the bags into Sollux's lap and then settles in next to him, still at a respectable distance, which is kind of nice.  He's gotten Sollux a few tacos and a thing of cheesy potatoes, which is the first thing he goes for.

            "Thanks," he says, cracking open the carton.

            "No problem."

            They watch the rest of the episode in silence, too invested in eating to actually have a conversation.  Sollux isn't sure he really wants one, anyway; he can still remember the silence in the cab on their way here.  And the way Dave's hand hadn't quite brushed his, just enough for some glancing contact, not enough to alleviate Sollux's flip-flopping stomach and the marathon of words in his head saying _abort, abort, cheerio, fucking asshole_.

            He's not even sure they can ever go back to conversation after that.  They'll just stay silent and motionless, save for their hands, except Sollux is too hungover to think about that shit any more.  "Did you take all the photos yourself?" he asks, not realizing he's talking until it's too late.  He tries to play it off by clicking through Netflix some more, ignoring the suggested titles.

            Dave shrugs next to him.  "Yeah.  No point in buying shit when you can just do it yourself."

            "They're pretty good."

            The way Dave shifts reminds Sollux of a bird puffing up its chest a little, and he can't help but smile lopsidedly at the television.  Of course Dave is proud of his work.  It doesn't matter who compliments it, just as long as it's being complimented.

            "I've got some more in my room," he says, and Sollux tries hard not to roll his eyes.

            He fails.  "Wow.  Fucking subtle, D.S., flawless execution there."

            Dave holds up his taco like a shield.  "Man, you're jumping to all kinds of conclusions here.  You've been doing that a lot - you got something on your mind?"  He smirks, and Sollux realizes that he... has been jumping to conclusions.  It's only more obvious when Dave says, "Want me to help you get it off?"  He laces his tone with three levels of smarm and Sollux can't help but chuckle, running his hand through his hair and leaning into the futon so that he can actually face Dave, instead of using the television as a shield.

            "Okay, okay, sorry."  Dave looks satisfied, sitting back and finishing off his taco, and Sollux continues talking because he sort of owes Dave that.  He's been pretty chill, and he's definitely attractive - though not with his mouth full of Taco Bell, fucking gross - and despite the fact that Sollux has seen him staring a few times, he hasn't tried putting the moves on him.  Other than the hand thing - but in all fairness, Sollux is pretty sure he started that.  "I get over-defensive, I know.  I kind of have a bad track record with friends and relationships, and it's kind of not my... area of expertise.  So."

            "So you don't know when someone's being serious or just saying shit that comes off the wrong way," Dave supplies.  "Yeah, that's cool, I get it."

            "Yeah, pretty much.  Plus," he adds, wryly, "I'm on a diet."

            Slugging down the last of his drink, Dave tosses the wrappers into his bag and sets it aside, then pushes himself up.  "C'mon, since you were clearly good about not rummaging around my room while I was gone, I figure I can reward your overwhelming curiosity about how fucking awesome it must be, given how badass the rest of the place is."

            "Badass isn't the word I'd use," Sollux says, but he takes his food to go as he stands, following Dave to his room.  What can he say - he _is_ kind of interested.  "So, all that weird shit in the bathroom is for photography?"

            "Yeah.  I use my bathroom as a darkroom - makes it easier than having to go all the way to the campus to use theirs."  He twists the doorknob, bumping his hip into the door when it sticks a little, and then swings the door wide.

            _Here's_ where all the trash is.  Dave doesn't seem to really care about how much garbage is lying around, from the way he walks over to his desk, dodging a half-filled trash bag and a few empty cans of energy drinks.  Admittedly, it's not a _lot_ of trash, but it's enough that Sollux feels almost at home.

            The weirdest thing, though, is the taxidermy squirrel sitting on top of the dresser, wearing a little fedora.  Right next to it is a shadowbox containing the skeleton of a bird, and a small, clear apple juice bottle stuffed with a few rabbit's feet and feathers.

            "Are you a serial killer?" Sollux immediately asks.  Dave looks round, sees where his eyes are fixed, and then shakes his head.

            "Nah, man.  I dunno, my bro got me that squirrel for Christmas when I was like, thirteen.  It has a whole suit, but it was getting seriously dusty, so I said fuck it.  He looks classier with just the fedora, anyway."

            "That's... really weird."

            "I guess you'd think so," Dave says, tabbing through his phone, "But I dunno.  Dead things are cool.  Skeletons are interesting and shit, you know?  It's not like I go out and kill 'em myself.  I just sort of find them."

            Sollux looks at the weird dead animals on Dave's dresser and realizes that this guy is even more of a weirdo than he is.  It's kind of reassuring, because there are moments when he thinks that maybe Dave is actually kind of cool - and sure, he is, because he's a nice enough guy, but he's not... _cool_.  People wouldn't line up outside a club to be seen dancing with him.  He knows all the words to a fucking Karmin song and collects dead animals.

            He thinks about how he got so irritated and how his stomach had twisted so uncomfortably when Dave hadn't asked him to go karaokeing at the same time as John and Jade, and almost laughs.  Jesus, is _this_ the guy he'd gotten kind of hung up on?  Who smiled in a rearview mirror and just _touched_ his hand, and made his chest do that weird fucking flutter thing that it shouldn't ever do?

            There's a picture tucked between the wall and the dresser, a little polaroid picture taken at a myspace angle.  John and Jade frame Dave, whose grinning with his eyes closed, shoving at the camera.  Sollux can practically hear him saying _dude, fuck off, you're not getting a glimpse of these baby blues_.

            "They keep trying to get a picture of me without my shades on," Dave says over Sollux's shoulder, and when he turns, Dave's leaning against the doorframe.  "I told them it's physically impossible to photograph a Strider's eyes, and that I'd probably die, and also that cameras steal your soul, but they don't fucking listen."

            Sollux laughs and rolls his eyes, and his chest gets a little warm and fluffy for no fucking reason at all.

            "From what I know of them, they'll get it eventually."

            Dave smiles, then, like a real kind of smile, a little shy even, and says, "I don't think they're the ones who are gonna get that money shot."  He turns away before Sollux can comment.  "C'mon, you owe me a rematch in Mario Kart.  I'm throwing out that scoreboard, we're doing this shit again."

            Sollux follows Dave out of the room, shutting the door behind him.  He's already decided that he needs to reevaluate one of two things: either his standards have got to go up, or he's got to decide why Dave making him feel light and uncomfortable is such a bad thing.  And since his standards are already too high...

***

            Equius is far from stupid.

            The moment he'd heard a car pulling up outside of the house, he had gone to his window, checking to see if it happened to be Nepeta.  He had, of course, expected that she might stay the night somewhere - he knows full well how uncomfortable he can make her - but what he'd seen through the blinds had been... less than desirable.

            Something about the clown-faced man from the electronics shop disturbs Equius on a base level.  The paint is completely unorthodox, and it would take a much stupider man not to recognize the fact that he takes some kind of illegal substance, but it's deeper than that.  The way he speaks - lilting, with a tired respect for elders and little... condescending, maybe.  He's not quite sure what the other quality is, but he knows that it grated something horrible when the man had spoken to him.

            He's clearly not a good influence, and to have seen him hugging Nepeta - to see him touching her - had irritated him.

            He doesn't bring it up with Nepeta.  He can't - if he does, she'll get upset, and then he'll get more upset, and then...

            There is something to be said about restraint, and though Equius knows he's far from mastered it, he has enough control to know when to keep away from his daughter.  It hurts to know that he can't engage in too many emotionally-heavy conversations without risking blowing up at her, but he tries to ignore it, tries to think _for the greater good_ , and of course he tries counting backwards from one-hundred.

            Nepeta makes dinner that night, and that means family time.  She talks about her upcoming final, and how she's sure that she's going to ace it, and carefully avoids mentioning that she thinks it's silly she has to worry about math so much considering her major.  Equius eats and smiles a few times when she talks about her friends, the ones he knows, and he almost makes it all the way through the meal before asking, "Where did you go last night?"

            She lies to him immediately, with practiced ease.  "I went to Vriska's, she decided to run a late-night game of D'n'D, so we were campaigning until almost three in the morning!  It was intense."

            He tries not to grind his teeth.  As far as Equius knows, Nepeta has never lied to him before.  Certainly there have been one or two white lies, a hidden test or a failure to admit that the boy she'd been hanging out with in high school was kind of almost her boyfriend, but nothing so blatantly _false_.

            "Who were the people with you this afternoon?" he asks, trying for nonchalance.  Trying not to get upset.  She hesitates, and he carefully takes a drink from his glass of milk.  Not getting upset.

            "Um, just some friends of Vriska's.  You know how she is, always hanging out with upperclassmen."

            He wonders if he should feel so empty.  Shouldn't he be feeling something more?  Rational anger, maybe.  But he knows he can't keep his anger rational, so it's perhaps better to feel nothing at all.

            "Nepeta Zahhak, that man is not in college.  He works at the electronics shop, and he is not someone I want you to be hanging around."

            "He's nice," she says, defensive, and he grits his teeth.

            "I do not care if he is nice.  He is _not_ someone to associate with."  When she looks like she's about to protest more, he snaps, " _Do you understand_?"

            She winces, and there's a break in the emptiness, a flashflood of anger and hurt and a terrible, reptilian sense of power.  When he pushes his chair out and stands, intending to leave the room, she recoils further and quickly nods.  "Okay!" she says, her voice high and frantic, "Okay, I won't talk to him any more!"

            Equius doesn't know how to react, doesn't know how to reassure her that he would never hurt her and that he hadn't intended to, but she looks honestly scared and all he feels now is a deep exhaustion and sadness.  He wants to tell her he loves her, but that little reptilian bit of his mind says _that's weakness, Zahhak, and you know better_.

            He doesn't want to think about how that voice is starting to sound less like his father's and more like his own.

            So he just nods and leaves, tromps upstairs and hides away in his room as though _he_ is the teenager scared of a beating.

            There's a letter under the pillows on his bed, and when he lies down, he pulls it out and looks at how old it is.  Years and years old, faded with age but kept out of the sun.  It starts, _Dear_ , and it ends, _Love._   Perfectly textbook, except for the post-script.

            _P.S. I'm sorry.  Please don't look for me._

            He's come so close to ripping it apart, each and every time he's looked at it, but like always, he folds it up and slides it under the unused pillow and thinks about how much better things would be if he had been the one to leave first.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat gets a phone call at 3 in the morning; across town, Rose and Scratch's flight gets in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW sorry for the delay, family issues and all that junk. ANYWAY yeah hope you enjoy, i've been trying to finish this chapter since i posted the last one. u3u

            It's three in the morning when Karkat's phone starts ringing.  He sure is fucking glad that he went to bed early tonight, because he really enjoys being woken up from a sound sleep by his phone blowing up with phone calls from an unrecognized number.  It's practically his favorite thing.

            He slaps the "ignore call" button a few times, but by the fifth attempt, he's forced to accept that someone's seriously trying to get a hold of him right then and there.  If it's a telemarketer, he's going to shit a brick.

            " _What_ ," he snarls into his phone, groggy and pissed off, blearily staring at the red light of his alarm clock.

            He doesn't expect the voice on the other end of the call in the slightest.  "Kar?"

            "Eridan?"  This is the fucking worst.  "What the fuck are you doing, calling me at three in the fucking morning, I was _asleep_ , you assripping pile of STI-infected cocks!"

            There's a long silence - another thing that Karkat doesn't expect - and then Eridan says, sounding more wavering than he had two days ago, "Sorry, but - I'm kinda fuckin' lost."

            "Are you fucking kidding me."  Sitting up, he runs a hand over his face, drawing his lower lip down before giving up on trying to pull himself out of the situation with his bare hands.  "Get a taxi, you dumbshit, or ask someone for directions."

            "That's just it, I'm."  He sounds upset.  Karkat really wishes he didn't sound fucking upset.  "Look, sorry I called, I just - there's this guy, an' he's bein' really fuckin' sketchy, so I'm kinda tryin' to avoid him."

            "What are you _talking_ about."

            "Some guy - look, I'll fuckin' pay you back, my wallet's back at the hotel, could you - please, just help me out here?  You kinda fuckin' owe me, you nearly got me killed."

            "I did _not_!"

            "You were fuckin' blackout drunk, Kar, you could'a killed us both, just - do me a fuckin' solid here."  When Karkat doesn't immediately respond, Eridan asks, "Please?"

            "Ugh.  _Fine_."  Karkat makes only a nominal effort to find a pair of sweat pants, pulling them on as he climbs out of bed.  "Look, just - give me an intersection or something to find you at."  He can't believe he's doing this, but here he is, pulling on a pair of Gamzee's oversized sandals, the pair he'd kind of tossed in Karkat's room one day when he'd complained about being unable to find his sneakers.  Karkat can practically feel the fiber of the carpet through the soles, they're so worn out.

            "Uh, Figueroa and Tenth."

            "Jesus Christ.  How fucking far out did you decide to wander?  That's practically across town!"

            "Look, I'm sorry, okay?  I don't know where the fuck I am around here, it's all a bunch'a fuckin' labrynthian loop-de-loops an' shit.  Are you comin'?"

            "Yeah, I'm coming.  You _owe me_ , Ampora."  Karkat wanders down the hall, grabbing his car keys from the bowl next to the front door, not bothering to wave at Gamzee when he notices him.  He's passed on the couch, anyway, and the hookah looks dead, so it probably won't burn the place down.  "Just sit tight, okay?  I'll be there in twenty minutes."

            "Thanks," is all Eridan says before he clicks off.  Karkat staggers through the front door, shoving his phone into his pocket and wiping sleep from his eyes.  He's going to fucking regret this, he just knows it.  There's something to be said about being "that" friend - and it's basically that being "that" friend sucks balls, worse than being the guy with a truck.

            Whatever.  He guesses he _does_ sort of owe Eridan, what with the whole drunk driving thing.  He can afford to get up at three in the morning, drive to a skeevy part of town and pick up the dude he accidentally slept with, just this once.

***

            Ninety percent of Rose's possessions from her dormitory have already been shipped ahead to her apartment.  The two bags that she has left make it through security and, miraculously, don't end up missing from the cargo, despite the late hour of the flight.  Her professor's one bag is equally as lucky, though it does take them nearly thirty minutes to pick it out from the carousel.

            It's strange, being able to engage in casual contact with him without fearing reprimand.  The casual handholding, the traded whispers, those secretive smiles suddenly no longer requiring secrecy - it's a bizarre but welcome change to their previous sneaking around.  When she risks their first public kiss, he responds without hesitation, and though she does see one or two people give them strange glances, she's certain it's more for the age difference than them knowing they were once professor and teacher.  It's a bit of a thrill.

            She'd already informed Dirk about the situation, figuring that he would take it better than Dave - and also, he's the one who lives closest to the airport.  Dirk had, for once, expressed more than mild bemusement, getting downright _curious_ about how she'd managed to get into a relationship like this in the first place; still, he didn't say anything negative, and he'd been glad to offer a ride.  They would have taken a taxi, but he has the key to her apartment, making it a little difficult to get a hold of.

            Dirk is waiting for them at the exit from baggage claim, which Rose would consider courteous if she didn't know exactly why he was doing it.  "Hey," he says when they approach, making no effort to hide the fact that he's sizing Scratch up.  He holds out his hand after a second.  "Dirk."

            Scratch smiles politely and takes her brother's hand.  "Nick.  It is a pleasure to meet you."

            "Yeah, same."  Dirk looks to Rose, and she can see the apologetic downturn in his otherwise passive expression.  "Cal's circling with the car.  C'mon, let me help you out."

            She lets him take a bag, mostly because she's too busy giving him a disapproving look.  "I thought you were going to leave him at the house," she says.

            "He wouldn't let me take the Escalade without him," he replies, tilting his head towards the exit.  "And there's no way I was going to cart you home in my Honda.  What kind of first impression to your boyfriend would that be?"

            She starts, momentarily surprised by the title, but Scratch simply smiles a little at it.

            "Who, by the way, was your professor," Dirk adds without derision, "So don't go complaining about _my_ boyfriend being kind of weird.  You're officially the last person who is allowed to do that."

            "My apologies.  I'll make sure to keep all my commentary about his newest, most ridiculous hairstyle, as well as his terrible tastes and general bad attitude entirely to myself."

            "You do that."

            It isn't hard to wrestle the luggage into the back of the Escalade once it makes its roundabout way back to them, though the heat is still enough to make her sweat.  Dirk's precocious artist of a boyfriend grumbles about the air conditioner as the three of them load the luggage, staunchly refusing to help through sheer force of will.  Rose and Scratch climb into the backseat once their things are situated, and as soon as Dirk closes the front passenger door, the car is in motion, never mind seatbelts or speed limits.

            "Your plane," Dirk's boyfriend says in his near-monotonous voice, "Was late."

            "By ten minutes," Rose counters, "It's nice to see you too, Caliborn."

            Caliborn's green eyes catch Rose's in the rearview mirror, before they look to her beau, sitting quietly beside her and looking remarkably at ease given the situation.  They linger there for too long.  "I'm sure," is all he says, before redirecting his gaze to the road.

            "Concise as ever," Rose sighs, before directing her attention to Dirk, "I thought you'd trained that out of him?"

            "Shut the fuck up!" Caliborn snarls, jerking on the wheel as much as he can in his rage without losing complete control, "Oh my _god_ , you've been here, what, fifteen minutes, and I'm already sick of you!"

            "Temper," Rose chides.

            "I'm going, to _fucking_ , kill you."  Caliborn's sentences - usually already fairly disjointed sounding, given his accent - are rapidly deteriorating, which is exactly what Rose is used to.  She's long since come to realize why Dirk is so fond of him; after all, she and him share the same desire to poke and prod at others until they snap, either just for fun or for some convoluted reason only they could dream up.  Caliborn is one of those very rare, special people who can't learn to outmaneuver them, making him a perfect victim for their teasing.

            Especially hers.  After all, he's practically her brother-in-law.  Just like Dave, he will receive no quarter.  Which reminds her...

            "Have you spoken to Dave at all?" Rose asks Dirk, making Caliborn fume as he's promptly and utterly ignored.

            Dirk shakes his head, not bothering to turn in his seat.  "The kid's still cutting me out," he says, reaching up to pinch his nose, his sunglasses sliding up his forehead.  "Still don't know why."

            "That's unfortunate," she says, "Because I haven't told him that I'm coming home yet, and he's going to be a little confused as to why I have some elderly sugar daddy on my arm."

            Scratch gives her a mildly amused look, the kind she knows means he's hiding far more laughter and perhaps one of those adorably youthful grins.  "I thought we agreed that I was middle-aged at best, not elderly."

            "Whatever you say, grandpa," Dirk drawls, and that does draw out a grin.  Rose is glad to see that even her older brother, who happens to be quite a bit more adept at wrecking people's proverbial shit, can't seem to get under Scratch's skin.  It means that it's not her - it's him.  He's just better at the psychological tête-à-tête than she is - and that is most definitely a good thing.

            "I watch him," Caliborn says, "On Facebook.  He has new friends.  One works downtown.  Near where he lives."

            "Thank you for that insightfully creepy addendum about my brother," Dirk says, "What would I do without you stalking my relatives for me?"

            "Never know what they're doing," Caliborn replies, "Probably."

            Rose rolls her eyes and looks to Scratch, who seems to be focused on the rear-view mirror, watching Caliborn.  She wonders if he's taking in his godawful hair; the sides of his scalp have been rendered completely bald, while the long stripe of hair down the center of his head gathers into a long, sweeping bang across one side.  She has to admit that it looks better against his skeletal and sharp-angled face than the time when he had only two long locks in front of his ears, but _really_.

            At least Dirk talked him out of the mullet with the tribal designs carved into the side.

            She realizes it's awfully silly to assume he'd be focused on something like hairstyles of his girlfriend's brother's boyfriend - and that makes her tingle, thinking of herself as his _girlfriend_ , despite how high school it feels - but she can't imagine what else about him might have caught her beau's interest.

            "I hope my sister scored okay on her final exam and paper with you, Doc," Dirk says, tilting his head to look at Scratch.  "Phenomenally, if it was oral."

            Rose kicks his seat with all of her might.  He just grins.

            "She pulled a respectable A-minus," Scratch says, without batting an eye.  "I am afraid, however, that the grades for oral exams are confidential."

            Caliborn jerks the steering wheel so hard they merge into another lane and Dirk chuckles appreciatively.  She covers her face with her hands - primarily to hide her blush, but also to hide the laughter attempting to boil up.  She can't help herself; her ex-professor and official boyfriend is trading stupid, teenage sex jokes with her second dumbest brother.  It is, in all honesty, fucking hilarious.

            He rubs her back, and when she looks at him, she can see him already figuring out an apology to say to her.  Before he has the chance, she smiles, leans in, and kisses him where Dirk and Caliborn can plainly see.

            Caliborn, thankfully, remains stoically silent afterwards, and Dirk does his utmost to give subtle approving looks.  He's not very subtle, but Rose doesn't mind one bit.  The support is gladly received, one way or another.

***

            Karkat leaves his blinker on after he rounds the corner of Figueroa, stubbornly driving with it blinking until he reaches ninth.  The street is pretty much empty, save for a few parked cars and one or two drunken college students celebrating what's probably their last night in town before they go home, so it doesn't take long to spot Eridan.  It's even more obvious that it's him from the ridiculous get-up - another pleated miniskirt and a fitted tank-top with some obscure as fuck band name on it.  He's wearing high-heel boots.  Karkat can't help but notice that they lace all the way up - not that it matters.

            Karkat honks his car horn and takes sleep-deprived pleasure out of the jump he gets.  He rolls down his window enough to wave Eridan down.  "Hurry up, asshole, I'm fucking tired."

            Despite the fact that Eridan can't seem to keep a straight line as he walks, he doesn't stumble around much in his heels; Karkat is, maybe, a little impressed by that.  Mostly irritated, though.  He unlocks the door so that Eridan can climb in, and staunchly ignores how his skirt rides up a little too high as he gets situated in the passenger seat.

            "Thanks," Eridan says once he slams the door shut.  "Sorry.  Didn't know anyone else to call."

            "Whatever," Karkat mutters, finally turning off his turn signal as he pulls back onto the mostly-empty street, hanging a right at the next block.  "Everybody gets one, I guess."

            Eridan flicks down the visor and slides open the mirror, lifting his glasses and wiping at the makeup smeared around his eyes.  "Man, you wouldn't fuckin' believe my luck, I figured since I hauled an okay catch an' all with you, I was on a good streak or somethin', but you give a jackass a fuckin' inch an' he's like hey, I'm just gonna try feelin' you up on the way back to my place.  Which was a terrible fuckin' idea, I already told you I don't normally let guys take _me_ home - look what you fuckin' did to me, Kar, I'm all off my fuckin' game."

            "Don't blame me for you picking up a douchebag at a bar," Karkat snaps, "That's not my fucking problem.  Ever try _not_ being a hussie for five seconds?"

            "Excuse _you_ , I can do whatever I like, thanks much, an' that _includes_ blamin' you.  You're all over there bein' a nice guy, lendin' me your pants an' findin' a decent IHOP to get pancakes at, what's a guy gonna do but assume other people in this town are similarly fuckin' polite?"

            Karkat knows he's blushing, but he just tightens his grip on the steering wheel and refuses to acknowledge it.  "Yeah, that's completely _not_ my fault.  Just because one person's nice to you doesn't mean anyone else will be."

            "Yeah, I learned that fuckin' lesson all over again.  I'm lucky he didn't snag my ID to try and find me, ugh.  Fuckin' creep, worse than my brother."

            Eridan huffs and slaps the visor shut, and Karkat watches him lean back in his seat and fume like a five-year-old.  He definitely, totally, one-hundred-percent doesn't check to see if Eridan's skirt is still pulled up too high.  (It is.)

            "I thought you said your wallet was back at your hotel room?"

            "Yeah, I just bring my I.D. with me most of the time.  Sometimes a credit card, if I think I'm gonna have to buy my own drinks."  He runs a hand through his hair, "Not that I usually gotta, with places like that karaoke bar.  Pretty easy to get around if you wear a short enough skirt, man or woman."

            "I thought you said that, uh - you bought _my_ drink."

            Eridan looks over at Karkat and raises a brow.  "Yeah, well, you were cute and drunk.  The fact that nobody else wanted to risk pissing off your clown friend by buying his boyfriend drinks didn't really stop me."

            Karkat groans and has to physically resist covering his face with his hands.  He needs to prove he's not a terrible driver, here.  "Oh my god, they thought Gamzee was my boyfriend.  ...That explains all the weird looks, I thought I was imagining them."

            "Yeah, I was pretty drunk so I didn't really think about it.  But he kept buying you drinks, so yeah.  I figured out pretty quick he wasn't your bag."  Eridan doesn't seem to think twice about putting his feet up against the dashboard, and Karkat keeps his eyes focused on the road.  Completely.  He has to remind himself that Eridan's not a woman, so it's only for his own mental safety that he doesn't look and accidentally get an eyeful of his junk.  Or whatever.

            "Yeah, fuck that, I wouldn't touch Gamzee with a twenty foot pole.  I mean, like, romantically, or whatever.  He's definitely not my type."

            Eridan laughs and rolls down the window without asking.  "Yeah, too many external parts for you, huh?"

            Karkat tries very hard not to respond, but he can't help it.  "Yeah.  Uh, and he doesn't really shower.  I can't fucking stand that shit."

            Eridan wrinkles his nose, but his response is nothing more than, "I hate that too."  Karkat doesn't really know how to continue the conversation, and so he lets it die a dignified death, laying it down to rest until the motel Eridan's staying at looms up over the bend.  "Fuckin' finally, I've never been so fuckin' glad to see a goddamn La Quinta," Eridan moans, dropping his feet to the floor of the car.  "Uh, if you wanna just pull up around the back there, my room's right upstairs.  I can get you some money for gas-"

            "Don't worry about it," Karkat mutters, "I don't need it."

            "Don't even start with me, a'course you need it, otherwise you're just gonna open yourself up to more'a me takin' advantage of you bein' the nice guy."  Eridan waggles his eyebrows and Karkat makes an Oscar-winning performance out of rolling his eyes at it.  "Unless that's what you're tryin' to do?"

            "Wow, fuck no, that's _definitely_ not it.  I'll take your fucking money if it means you won't call me at three in the morning to come pick you up from downtown again."

            "That's what I thought.  Right here's fine, by the way."

            Karkat pulls into one of the empty parking spots and Eridan pops his seatbelt before clambering out of the car.  It's only now that Karkat really takes notice of how much Eridan is weaving on those too-high heels of his, watching him make his way across the asphalt to the concrete walkway leading to the stairs.  He gets a visceral image of Eridan going ass-backwards down those, cracking his head open or breaking his neck, and with a disgruntled sigh he throws open his own door and climbs out.

            "Hold the fuck on, Ampora, you're never going to get up those stairs on those fucking stilts."

            "I'm _fine_ , I've walked in higher a lot drunker," Eridan snaps, glancing over his shoulder.  It'd probably be more convincing if he didn't nearly run into the steel railing of the stairs on the very first step.  Karkat manages to grab his shoulder in time for him to not go toppling over.

            "Take the fucking heels off, you're going to seriously die and it's going to be a pain in the ass explaining why a nice guy like me was hanging around a La Quinta with a crossdresser.  This isn't Nevada, I'll get fucking jailed or something."

            "Shut up," Eridan huffs, but he leans against Karkat nonetheless, feeling along the side of one boot until he unzips it.  (Karkat does not feel weirdly disappointed by this revelation.)  He gets the other off a bit easier, more steady on his bare foot.  "Ugh.  I just wish they had a fuckin' elevator, I hate walkin' around barefoot."

            "Maybe if you wore sneakers or something, you wouldn't have that problem."

            "Yeah, like a pair'a Chucks are gonna complete this ensemble."  He wraps his hand around the heels of both boots, keeping them at his side.  His steps are more secure now, and Karkat almost returns to his car before Eridan adds, "C'mon, since you're already up, you won't look so fuckin' skeevy."

            It turns out that Eridan's seemingly pragmatic suggestion is really for his own gain - he can't really seem to get the steps right without holding on to the railing, his other hand on Karkat's shoulder for extra support.  Karkat reluctantly helps him up the stairs to the second floor, and he fails to complain when Eridan doesn't let go as they walk along the open hallway to his room.

            "I'm gonna go pass out in the shower for like six years," Eridan gripes as he fumbles the door open - Karkat has to turn the card right-side-round for him - and pushes into the dark room.  It smells faintly musty, like moth balls and the staleness of an air conditioner that isn't quite clean.  He flips on a light and tosses his heels next to the desk - a desk that's covered in clutter, including unopened boxes of shitty tween dolls, makeup and hair styling supplies - and then heads straight to the television, lifting it up a bit to wedge his hand under and pull out a wad of cash.  Karkat drops his keys onto the side-table by the door, since he doesn't have the pockets to hold on to them.

            Karkat looks over the rest of the room and finds it to be in similar disarray - there's clothing everywhere, a dry-cleaning bag hanging in the open closet, lots of pre-packaged microwave food lying around and a pallet of water bottles.  The trashcan is overflowing with half-eaten ramen and other empty food wrappers.

            "Are you stocking for the fucking cataclysm or something?" Karkat asks, raising an eyebrow at Eridan as he counts out his money.

            "Yeah, yeah, it's a fuckin' mess, who even cares."

            "Man, it looks like you rented out an apartment and forgot it was a _fucking hotel room_."  For the first time, Karkat wonders what the fuck Eridan is doing in town to begin with.  He doesn't want to ask - he's trying hard to keep this acquaintanceship just that; a vague passing knowledge of one another, and nothing more.  But looking at the very _lived in_ quality of the room, he's finding it  hard to resist.

            "Yeah, well, it's got its uses," Eridan says, too drunk to keep the tension out of his voice.  Karkat's sure he would have played it off much easier if he were sober -as it stands, it sounds as though he definitely doesn't want to talk about it.

            "At least take out the garbage or something, dude, you're going to start regretting it when the flies start breeding.  I can smell the ramen in the air, it's pretty fucking awful."

            "Well, nobody fuckin' asked you, did they?"  Eridan shoves a fistful of tens and ones at Karkat, eyes narrowed behind his wayfarers.  "So, like, thanks for fuckin' helpin' me, an' don't worry, I'm not about to request your shuttle services again, if this is the kind'a fuckin' reception I get."

            "Wow, don't get so fucking bitchy, dude.  I'm just warning you that you're going to get a fucking damage fee if you let shit fester."  Karkat snatches the money out of Eridan's hand on principle, but he doesn't leave.  He tries to take a breath and think about how Eridan's drunk and... there's clearly something going on, with the way things are lying around and how the place just feels really... lived in, but it's hard because Eridan keeps opening his mouth.

            "Who fuckin' cares if I get a fee for the damages, I got more than enough money to cover that shit.  I don't need some fuckin' jerkoff tellin' me what to do with myself.  This is why I don't keep you fuckers around, you always start fuckin' naggin' me, like I don't know what the fuck I'm doin' with myself when _clearly I do_ , elsewise I wouldn't have money an' a roof over my head, so-"

            "Fucking forget I said anything, Jesus Christ!"  It takes all his willpower not to punch Eridan right there for not shutting up.  "I was just trying to fucking help you out!"

            " _I don't need any help!_ "

            Eridan's voice is a pitch above fucking deafening, and it leaves the room strangely silent for a few seconds before Karkat can hear the AC once again.

            "So just fuckin' - go an' leave me alone, never mind what I said about you bein' a good guy, you're a fuckin' asshole!"

            "Fine!"

            There's more he could say, probably, but Karkat is way too tired and way too over this to actually say it.  So he just yanks open the door and absconds as fast as he can down the stairs without looking like he's running.  Which he isn't.  He's just not prepped to deal with psychotic drunk assholes who think they can talk to people who go out of their way to help them like they're shit - not that he thinks he'll ever be that prepped, but still.

            All he can think about is how it just fucking figures that Gamzee gets a nice, mellow chick like Jade, and he ends up having his first time be with a crazy dude like Eridan.  It's fucking ridiculous.  Where the fuck are the hot, friendly girls without crazy amounts of baggage and why hasn't he found them?

            He knows it's a flawed argument, but he doesn't care.  He's pissed off about the stupidest things right now and he just wants to go back to his apartment and sleep for a millennia and _his keys are still in Eridan's room_.

            Jesus.  Fucking.  Christ.

            He smacks his forehead against his car door a few times, and then resolutely turns back to the motel.  He takes the stairs two at a time and when he reaches Eridan's door, he forces himself to knock before he can think things through.  It's easier that way.

            Eridan cracks open the door, glares at Karkat, and then slams it shut before reopening it without the chain.  "What the fuck do you want now?"

            "My keys," Karkat says, gesturing to the table, "So I can get the fuck out of here."

            Eridan scowls and nearly throws the offending item at Karkat.  "You have your keys," he snaps.

            "Yeah."  He almost takes his foot out of the door.  But then his irritation takes over, and he says, "What the fuck is your deal, Ampora?  I didn't have to come get you at three in the fucking morning just because you got lost after bailing on some dude who turned out to be a fucking asshole, so you _don't_ get to treat me like shit, okay?  You have to at least fucking pretend not to get offended when I say simple things like _let housekeeping clean up for you,_ you're living in a fucking hotel, of course that's the easiest goddamn thing, it's _free housekeeping,_ do you realize what the fuck I would do if I was blessed with the goddamn privilege of being able to stay somewhere and not have to do jack shit and have it look at least moderately fucking becoming every day?  Who the _fuck_ do you think you are to talk to me like that after I've been as nice as I can possibly fucking be for a _complete stranger_?"

            If he hadn't needed to breathe, Karkat's sure he could've gone on longer.  But as it is, he needs to take a breath, and it's about then that he realizes that Eridan is looking at him like he's never seen him before - and like he's not sure he's comfortable with what he's seeing.  It makes Karkat feel suddenly self-conscious, his irritation sweeping aside for his anxiety, and so he says, "Fuck it, just don't expect me to come rescue you downtown again."

            "Okay," Eridan says, kind of helpless sounding, and Karkat's not sure why but that just irritates him again.  Like he's never gotten yelled at or called out for being an asshole - he can't imagine Eridan's managed to last this long without that happening at least _once_.

            He refuses to focus on it.  Instead, he bails as quickly as he can once more, this time not hiding that he's trying to run a little bit, and only tries to relax once he's out of the parking lot and on his way home.  It doesn't really work.  Even when he gets home and is under the covers of his familiar, warm bed, he finds himself staring at the red numbers of his alarm clock, unable to get to sleep.


End file.
